


The Silence Between Heartbeats

by yesmsmoran (elliedew)



Series: Sweet Dreams and Scattershot [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, M/M, Season Two AU, What if?, djinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliedew/pseuds/yesmsmoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural Kink Meme Fill; "Fic that replaces Carmen with Cas. And then, when Dean wakes up and he meets Cas for the first time he freaks out because it's the only man he's ever loved and he's so confused as to how he can be real when he obviously had to be something the djinn created."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Djinn

**Author's Note:**

> I dearly hope this is pleasing to the OP and not a complete flop.

0-0-0

“I’m sure it’s nothin’, I just wanna take a look around first…” He disconnected the call just as Sam was inhaling to reprimand him again about thinking things through before he acted. He settled back into his seat, grin still on his face. 

It was raining just enough to necessitate the windshield wipers, just enough to annoy you without making your shirt wet. There weren’t many cars on the road, most people heading home from the late shift and he changed lanes effortlessly, eased to a stop at an intersection and made a U-turn back the way he’d come, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, images of Barbara Eden belly dancing in his head. 

It was a factory complex of some sort, most likely steel works or iron judging by the size and age, graffiti covered some corners and walls, some of the windows were covered in soot and dirt and grime, others were broken out and water dripdripdripped off slanted roofs and sagging gutters. It was a testament to the Midwest, industry lost to decay, the American Dream of yesteryear left to rot by its children. 

Dean found it strangely appealing and pulled in, ducking his head to peer up through the windshield at the buildings and high windows darkened in neglect. A stray cat with glowing green eyes darted across the alleyway ahead of him into the darkness but he paid it little mind and parked in a wider area shielded from view of the highway on three sides, drivers wouldn’t see him unless they were looking for him and with the lights off, in this weather he’d be completely invisible. 

It wasn’t hard to get inside, places like this had their locks broken years ago by teenagers, or squatters or drug addicts so it was no surprise or concern when the door opened with a gentle push. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, considering where he was and what he was doing. Just an abandoned warehouse. Old desks overturned, papers yellowed with age, rat chewed and scattered. Heaps of rat crap and a few decaying leaves blown or brought in by the wildlife. A mouse scurried across a shelf and disappeared into a crack in the plaster. Cobwebs hung like drapes from the corners, wafting gently in the breeze from the rain. Chairs sitting in corners, eerie but nothing he hadn’t seen a hundred times before. 

It was vaguely warmer inside than out, the air stale and smelling of dust and despair. There were a few leaking places in the roof, ceiling tiles that had fallen in, too sodden by decades of rain, swollen and fibrous, Dean wondered if maybe there was asbestos in them and gave each moldering pile a wide berth as he scanned back and forth with his flashlight, knife held lose but ready in his other hand. 

At first glance it didn’t look like anything was there, but the farther into the building he ventured the quieter it seemed. Usually abandoned buildings like this were filled with quiet, hidden life. Mice and bats and feral creatures of the sort. Hell, even spiders and moths and birds. Aside from the cat outside and the lone mouse he’d seen upon first entering, there had been no other movement. No plump small furry bodies shifting out of sight between boxes, no fluttering of wings over his head, no crawling spiders in webs… The place seemed… seemed dead.

Cold.

Something was here, be it the Djinn or some other spirit or perhaps the shadow of old magic, something was here. 

At first it was just the silence, eating away at him as unnatural, but then it was something else, a tingle, like that feeling in the air before a lightning strike—the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, muscles in his jaw twitching and the knife shifted in his hand, simple and easy as breathing, elbow up, grip firm.

He inhaled and held it, coiled tightly, ready to lunge, stance even, ready to spring back into defense if the blow didn’t kill instantly and turned, flashlight low but trained upward, to blind his assailant, side forward to present the smallest target possible—

The hallway was empty, just a shadow flicking out of existence against the glass. 

The constant musical drip of water was everywhere, from all sides, dissonant, no rhythm or reason. Dean swallowed the tightness in his throat and breathed through the adrenaline, pushed it down, eased his foot forward slowly, rolling his steps to silence them and cocked the fist holding his knife out, ready to swing, eyes flicking back and forth, ears strained. 

If this was the djinn and not just some animal, he had to make the first blow count because he may not get a second. There were so many places in here to hide, so many nooks and hollows Dean may never see it coming—

The grip around his throat was cold, stone like but he struggled anyway, light tilted up into electric blue eyes, staring at a face that was all too human under patterns like tattoos. The markings gave the djinn a sinister appearance even while its expression remained passive, indifferent. He was lifted bodily off the ground by his neck and thumped back against the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth—not enough to injure but enough to knock the breath out of him.

BANG left wrist, the flashlight clattered away—BANG the knife was gone too—

Instinct took over, kicking, bringing his knees up, gasping for air, pinching the thing’s wrist in an attempt to cause an involuntary muscle contraction. There were distant thoughts of Sam, of helplessness, wondering what this—this THING was going to do to him, carry him away perhaps like some fucking damsel, but there was no malice in its eyes, simply serenity, blue and shifting like the ocean, pulsing light, flickering like a flame—a hand lifted and touched, strangely gentle against his brow, like he remembered his mother doing when he’d been three, her stomach had just started pushing out her shirt a little—they hadn’t told him why yet… A virus, a fever and her hand had been so cool, brushing his hair back—

He woke in a cold sweat, heart beating frantically in his throat a sick ache in his head. 

The TV was on. It looked like Creature from the Black Lagoon or something like that, it was vaguely familiar, there were dozens of movies made like that in the forties; A big grotesque monster waddling through the underbrush with the pale golden beauty swooning in its gnarly arms, dragging her away to do unspeakable things to her. 

Dean blinked at it stupidly, everything between his ears stuffed with cotton and a strange chemical-sweet taste clinging to the back of his throat. 

It was warm, comfortable, smelled clean. Not like cleaning products or a room hastily and halfheartedly disinfected before new occupants arrived, but actually clean. Care and routine kept cleanliness. There was a lingering scent, pizza and popcorn with butter and parmesan, an undertone of something else, familiar but unnamable. 

Dean’s mouth was dry and his tongue roved over his lips, searching for moisture. 

The room came into focus slowly, as if melting out of the darkness. Hardwood floors, a pair of sneakers in the corner, a t-shirt and jeans left crumpled in front of the dresser, socks flung haphazardly nearby. There was a mirror attached to closet door and Dean saw himself in it, painted ashy grey in the light from the TV, all wide eyes and mussed hair. He was wearing a strange T-shirt, too big, gray with blue lettering, a big UK on the front— his mind didn’t have the capacity to translate what that could mean, at the moment he was confused and wanted to lash out. His face was puffy from sleep, how long had he been here? Long enough to take a siesta apparently, his eyes continued on, scanning the room. 

There was a doorway, open and leading into a hallway, dimly lit by some lamp or something left on in another room, glowing amber. The hardwood continued into and Dean could see the back of a chair and his jacket draped over it. 

The wall to his left was nothing but shelves, most of which filled with books, there were a few knickknacks, an antique looking miniature bust of what Dean was sure was a samurai, beside a really awesome looking sword, a jar filled with seashells, a few scattered photos of people. Dean recognized his own in a few of them, there were three larger frames with something like certificates in them and one of the Impala with the hood up and Dean leaning over the engine streaked with grease. 

The lump in the bed beside him was unexpected. A body curled and half hidden in the quilt, a long pale arm poking out from under a pillow, a pair of glasses dangling from the limp grip of long fingers. 

Dean swallowed again, his mouth dry and leaned over, peering down at the stranger beside him.

He saw wild dark hair and the person grumbled in a low rough voice, rolled halfway onto their back and Dean was on his feet because that—THAT was a guy. 

Oh, yes. That was a dude. A dude in bed with him. A DUDE. Holy sweet baby Monkey Jesus, Dean Winchester was in bed with a man!

He snatched up the clothes from the floor relieved his phone was still in his jeans pocket and left the bedroom as quickly as he could, stuck one leg through the denim then the other, yanked them up as he walked, leaned his shoulder against the wall as he pulled on his socks and shoes and pulled his phone from between his teeth, holding the power button down until it rebooted.

The hallway lead into a small kitchen/dining/living room thing, he flipped on the light switch and looked around warily.

It was a nice place, really it was, conservative, but classy at the same time. Guitar in the corner beside another large shelving unit stacked with old vinyl records, CDs, cassettes, an impressive stereo system and more photographs Dean didn’t take the time to stop and examine. There were his keys, in a bowl on the end of the countertop that extended into the main room beside a set he didn’t recognize with a large yellow foam fish keychain, one of those floaty ones that were supposed to keep your keys from sinking if you drop them in water. 

There were a few magazines nearby, one or two with cars on the front, a copy of Modern Architecture, a cooking magazine with some sassy looking Latina on the front and a stack of letters. He ignored them for the time being, ground his teeth and punched in the last digits of Sam’s phone number as he snatched up his keys and held them tightly in his fist.

It rang once—

“Dean?”

His heart jumped and he spoke in a low hushed tone, feeling the walls closing in on him, uncomfortable and nervous in this strangefamiliar place. “Sam?”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know where I am.”

“What? What happened?”

“Well, the—uh—the djinn, it attacked me—“ He could still feel that deceptively calming touch to his brow and he pushed the sensation backward toward his hair in an effort to ease the itch of it. 

“The gin? You’re drinkin’ gin?”

He could hear amusement in Sam’s voice and bared his teeth, the near overwhelming urge to put his fist through something chewing at the base of his mind, curling his fingers into his palm. “No, asshat—The DJINN, the scary creature, remember? It put its hand on me and then I woke up next to some dude!”

“You mean Cas?”

“Who?”

Sam huffed in amusement. “You’re drunk… You’re drunk dialing me.”

“I am not drunk! Quit screwin’ around!” He was going to punch Sam in the face when he saw him again, no holding back. BAM! Right in the kisser.

“Look it’s late, just get some sleep, man and I—I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Wait, SAM—“

But the line clicked and even when he hissed his brother’s name again in his best authoritative voice, there was no answer. He ground his teeth and looked left and right, between the exit and the hallway, sweat beading on his brow. He stared down at the phone in shock and barely withheld rage, ground his teeth and snatched up one of the magazines off the countertop, glaring at the name and address printed on the label. If Sam wouldn’t help him, at least he could figure out where he was… 

Castiel Edlund 53 Barker Ave. Lawrence, KS…

“Lawrence?” He swallowed a knot in his chest; “What the hell…”

“Dean?”

He bit his tongue, clamped his jaws together and turned, arms coming up defensively, eyes wide and staring.

There was that guy—awake now wearing oversized sweats and a floppy t-shirt that drooped off one pale slim shoulder. His hair was a mess, eyes squinted, nose wrinkled up. He yawned like his jaw may come unhinged and scrubbed at one eye with blunt fingertips; “What’re you doing up?”

Dean swallowed and pressed his tongue up into the roof of his mouth willing the pain away. He forced on a smile, fond, practiced—he’d smiled at hundreds of people like this before and it won them over every time. “Hey… Cas—Cas…” He swallowed again, still tasting something cloying and sweet on the back of his tongue, he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, scrambling for something believable. “I—I just—uh.”

Cas blinked at him, shoulders loose, hands bumping his thighs. “Can’t sleep?”

He smiled, placating, apologetic; “Yeah, yeah… uh—“

Cas yawned again, stifling the cave of his mouth into his fist and shuffled forward, numbly butting his head against Dean’s sternum, arms circling around his waist.

Dean stood rigid, staring at the ceiling, arms up and curled into fists in shock. He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute against his ribcage. There was a strange dude hug him. A strange dude who knew his name and had been fucking sleeping beside him in this weird ass place— Cas shuffled his feet, scuffing his prickly cheek against Dean’s t-shirt and Dean nearly shoved him away when the smaller man pressed his hips into Dean’s with sleepy intent. “Come back to bed?”

Dean swallowed, felt ice water in his veins, tried to ignore the fact some guy was pressing his dick suggestively into his thigh—“Yeah—“ His voice sounded high pitched, awkward like it had when he was going through puberty; “Yeah, just—uh—just give me a minute, okay?”

Cas nuzzled his chest again, pressed his lips to the dip of muscle over Dean’s heart and tilted his chin up blue eyes glazed with sleep and want; “Don’t take too long—“ He pushed up without warning and Dean couldn’t do anything about it—couldn’t with a clear conscience knock the poor guy away and instead let himself be kissed—If he could ignore the grate of stubble against his chin or the fact that the guy’s mouth was just a little off center and sleepy, he might have said it was OK for a kiss, but aside from a very convincing tax accountant in drag back in Tampa once—just the once— years ago, Dean had never kissed or been kissed by another man. It rattled him a little that he wasn’t freaking out about it more than he was. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with someone liking the same sex, just had always KNOWN he was straight, he’d been physically attracted to women since he was nine years old for crap sake, had jerked off the first time to reruns of Gilligan’s Island—Ginger in that fuckmedress, was the greatest thing ever.

Cas smiled against his lips and Dean’s mind reeled because the sensation left him tingling and he forced on a tightlipped smile as Cas’s hands dipped into the back pockets of his jeans for a little squeeze before he pulled away and shuffled back toward the bedroom, a definite tent in his sweats. 

Dean smiled until the other man was gone, then scrubbed his mouth furiously with the collar of his t-shirt hoping to scratch away that weird warm sensation, did a shivering jig of confusion and discomfort across the room, then absolutely froze in his tracks when he caught sight of a frame in the corner above an extensive collection of religious texts. 

He stared at it, gave his head a shake, blinked and felt himself drawn forward like a moth to flame, disbelieving even as he snatched it up in trembling hands and brought it close to his face to stare at it because sometimes things looked like one thing when they were something entirely different. 

That…

He didn’t feel the frame drop from his fingers, didn’t hear the glass break, just turned and moved. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. Not even the thought of being kissed and groped by a strange man worried him in that moment. He felt four years old again. Felt angry and shocked and a little scared beyond his wits. He tripped going down the stairs, grabbed the banister and slid onetwothree on his behind before he forced himself up again, breath sawing in and out of his throat, heart beating like a bass drum. 

A gray haired man with a goatee stared at him disapprovingly as Dean shoved past him on the side walk and into the street. He almost started running, his mind wasn’t working, was an empty sucking void through which there was only one constant, what that picture had shown him changed everything and nothing else mattered but that. His hands shook as he jabbed the key in the lock, slid behind the wheel and had the ignition turned before he’d even shut the door. 

It had stopped raining sometime between the djinn touching him and waking up, but passing under trees left big fat drops on the windshield and Dean gave the wipers a flick, eyes scanning street signs, ignoring blaring horns when he cut off someone in a minivan and kept on going, mumbling to himself directions he only vaguely remembered. He glanced at his watch, thirty minutes. He’d lost thirty minutes and his whole world had changed. 

His heart beat in his ears, the sweet taste in the back of his throat seemed insignificant and the minutes crawled by like years until he found himself pulling to a stop, breath coming out in quick jerks as he turned off the headlights and wipers then killed the engine. 

The tension was palpable, a weight in his stomach and an ache behind his eyes, burning sensation in his sinuses and fingertips as he climbed out of the car, took a slow shuddering breath and started across the street, keys clenched tightly in his fist until he was sure the ridges had cut into his sweaty palms.  
He stood outside the door, just breathing and shivering for a five count, hand lifted to knock but in the same moment afraid to do so, the image burned into the backs of his eyes. 

Come on, man, just do it. DO IT!

He shifted on his feet, wetted his lips again and pounded his fist on the door. When nothing happened he stabbed a finger at the bell, shielded his eyes and went on tiptoe to peer into the glass insert on the door, hopeful, afraid to hope. Wary because this could all be a trick. He could be waking up some stranger—

The porch light flickered on—Dean stared at it, thought of the ocean and lightning and hot flames, the buzz of electricity and naked bulbs with water dripping on them, wafts of steam as the heat slowly boiled the moisture away— felt his heart race in something akin to panic. The sweet taste in his throat turned slightly bitter and he felt the sudden need to vomit, to choke it out because something wasn’t right. 

His hands shook, fingertips tingling. His hands were shaking and his wrists ached… He rubbed his palms on the legs of his jeans, took a slow breath and turned back to the door. A light clicked on inside and he nearly started pounding his fist on the wood again, the same words bouncing around in the blackness between his ears. 

Please, please PLEASE!

The door opened before he was ready for it and he was sure, in that second that his heart had burst in his chest and he was about to die. A violent cold jolt went through him and all thought stopped.

Everything stopped. 

Nothing else mattered but this. 

Nothing.

“Dean?” She blinked in surprise.

“Mom?”

“What are you doin’ here?” She reached out with her hand—Her HAND and Dean felt himself flinch back instinctually, adrenaline shooting into his veins telling him to defend himself, that this had to be a trick, a dream, while at the same time he was sure his knees were going to give out and he’d collapse—fucking swoon like a starlet. 

She was warm. Oh, Jesus, she was touching him—

“Are you alright?” Her eyes scrunched at the corners in concern and her fingers clamped onto his arm a little more tightly.

His vision swam and the words were out before he even knew he was speaking, brain on autopilot, voice pulled thin and weak; “I don’t know.” 

Her brows pinched together and Dean thought of Sam, how his brothers did the same thing when he was concerned and confused. He wanted to say something about it, wanted to laugh and—and do something other than just stare at her. Then she pulled him forward; “Well, come inside.” 

He followed, powerless. Watched her, couldn’t look away, everything she did, everything she was burning into his brain. Her hair was messy, makeup a little smeared where she hadn’t got it all off before bed. There was a coffee stain on the collar of her robe and a little crust of sleep in the corner of her eye. As she passed him he caught a hint of her perfume, the scent of her shampoo. 

The warm fact of his mother was just inches away, alive and whole and annoyed that he’d woken her up at two in the morning made everything else seem pointless.

“Castiel just called and said you just took off all of a sudden.” 

“Castiel?” Who was that? Did he know someone named Castiel? It—it couldn’t be real. He had no memory of this, the burgeoning dreamlike haze at the back of his mind was trying to tell him he did, but everything was too unfamiliar for him to believe it. Too alien and perfect. There had to be a catch, there was never not a catch— His chest tightened and he had to swallow again just to think, had to dig his fingers into the flesh of his thighs to force himself to think, to push down what he was feeling enough for everything to come back into focus. “Right…” It hurt, scared him that this may be false, that it may be real, that the Djinn may have done this. It was more likely that this may be some twisted shadow of his deepest desire. Waking up next to a guy was the first clue that something was up, but this—this was the icing on the preverbal cake and he forced the feelings down into the pit of his stomach, forced it away from himself because it’s what he’d been raised to do. Djinn were evil, all the lore said so—He didn’t know much about them, just what he and Sam had been able to dig up. Vague things from TV or stories he’d heard from other hunters, but they had to be evil—right? They fed on people… they didn’t really grant wishes… did they?

He had to know… Even if it hurt, even if it killed him inside, he had to know. “Let me ask you a question… When I was a kid—what’d you always tell me when you put me to bed?” 

“Dean, I don’t understand—“

“Just answer the question.”

Her face was so hurt, so confused and his gut twisted, but he had to do it. This could just be some creature with his mother’s face and he HAD TO KNOW. 

She flinched, sighed tiredly and shifted on her feet, expression warming as the edges of her lips curled upward and without hesitation she spoke; “I told you angels were watching over you.” 

He felt it like a gunshot, the tension in his body became absolute and that was the only reason he remained on his feet. His breath escaped and he sucked it back in, “I don’t believe it,” and moved forward with his heart in his throat. 

She grunted in surprise and her hands came up, her hair catching on the bristles of his chin, breath warm against his ear, the solidity of her against him overwhelming, small hands sweeping the breadth of his back and neck checking him over like she’d done when he was a child, looking for hurts; “Honey… you’re scaring me, just tell me what’s going on,” Her fingers were like a vice on him as he withdrew.

“You don’t think—you don’t think that wishes can really—“

Her eyes narrowed, expression indulgent even though she was clearly wishing she were still asleep and his world had not been disrupted by whatever internal cataclysm had brought him to her door; “What?”

In his dreams she was always so happy to see him, always so ready to hold him and listen and open, young and perfect… but here she wasn’t. She was concerned, worried, irritated and her jaw smelled like cold cream. “Just forget it,” He pulled her in again, “Forget it, I’m just… I’m happy to see you is all…” He smiled into her hair, remembering how big and powerful she’d felt when he was little, holding him to her chest when he’d been hurt or sick, the vague memories of her hand soothing a fevered brow, or the lull of her voice to ease his nightmares. 

She smelled like oranges and ginger and vanilla ice cream— He’d forgotten how she smelled.

His breath caught in his throat and everything burned, pulsed, constricted painfully, so tight and hot and his vision blurred as he pulled back; unable to continue the contact, unable to continue inundating himself with the subtle citrus scent of her so close and so real because part of him just wanted to sink into nothing between her arms and weep. 

He stepped back, hands on her arms and even though his fingers wrapped around them she still felt so big, so invincible; “You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes rolled and a flush filled her cheeks, Dean remembered her giving Dad that look a few times when he came home smelling a little too much of scotch and got flirty— she laughed, tired and indulgent. “What?”

He looked away, cheeks burning, vision watery and scrubbed his palms on his jeans, eyes searching the room for something to distract himself with, something—ANYTHING because he had to get control of this situation. Had to get control of these weird confusing emotions. 

Books, yeah, books. He could read! Pictures too! Yeah, that sounded like a plan. He rubbed the stupid grin off his face, glancing at her over his shoulder; “Hey—Hey, uh—when I was young, was there ever a fire here?” He turned to her nervously and watched as she crossed her arms, rubbing a chill from them as she stepped close, curious and worried.

“No, never.” 

He turned back to the shelf and stared, heart jumping voice wistful; “I thought there was.” 

There were photos of himself, little and scrawny sitting on a blanket with plump drooling baby Sam, parties and grinning faces under Christmas trees, laughing around the kitchen table with Easter Egg dye on their fingertips; John looking tired but grinning with little Sam standing on his knees, tiny white teeth shining. Little League Baseball games, soccer uniforms and muddy cheeks, family pick-nicks and sleeping on the couch; John leaned back with his head on a cushion, Sam on his chest, Dean with his head on his father’s thigh. Mom and Sam standing on the curb, Sam looking doubtfully at a school bus Dean was already climbing onto. 

“I guess I was wrong.”

Dean chuckled and plucked one of the frames up; “Dad’s on a softball team?”

His mother’s expression was pinched, her lips thin, eyes sad, confused.

“Dad… Dad’s softball team, that’s funny to me,” he looked away quickly.

“He loved that stupid team,” Her voice was quiet, a whisper, perhaps a little resentful.

Dean looked at her, the tilt to her brow, the creases around her mouth and the words came out more in surprise than actual intention; “Dad’s dead.”

She tilted her head, a little vein standing out on her brow.

“The uh—the thing that killed him was…”

The indulgence was gone, replaced by worry and she took a step forward, fingers tightening on the sleeves of her robe; “A stroke.” 

Dean took a slow breath, wetted his lips again compulsively.

“He died in his sleep, you know that.” 

He nodded, looked away, swallowed the taste in his throat; “That… that’s great.” 

“Excuse me?” He knew that look too, remembered it from the time he’d got mad at dinner once as a kid and thrown his water glass at the wall with a screech of indignation and his heart lurched.

“That-that’s great that he… went peacefully,” He sounded like a jerk to his own ears and cleared his throat, “Sure beats the alternative,” He exhaled and carefully set the picture back on the shelf. 

When he turned around again his mother was looking at him critically, almost sadly.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“No, mom, I haven’t,” It hurt a little, to think that this… that she’d seen him drinking, seen him drunk and stupid and reckless, “Mom.” 

“I’ll just call Castiel and have him come pick you up, OK?” She looked disappointed but resigned as she reached for the phone.

He’d already put his hand over hers before he’d thought about it. “No, nonono, don’t do that, don’t do that—“

She looked at him, commanding but perhaps a little scared, little hand curling up— and he mentally flailed. He was scaring her but he didn’t know how to stop. He didn’t know the rules here. Didn’t know what had happened in that twenty-two year gap between his old world and this one. “I wanna stay here.”

She shook her head again, eyes narrowed; “Why?”

He stuttered, sweat building on his palms again; “Because I—I miss the place.”  
She cocked up an eyebrow uncomfortably and her hand was still curled into a fist.

“It’s OK, it’s OK,” He rubbed his hands dry again, “You go to bed, OK?” He couldn’t keep from brushing his fingertips on her arms, reassuring himself she was there, was real. He stepped away when her eyes dropped to his hands and took a seat on the sofa to put distance between them or he may wind up just wrapping his arms around her and not letting go. He took a moment to just stare around at the wall paper and the photos reverently, cementing himself in this new reality. 

She hesitated, watched him until he’d settled with his elbows on his knees, then shifted closer and formed her hand to his brow. “You sure you’re alright?”

He looked up at her, little wrinkles and stained collar and grey hairs all and thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “I think so…”

She smiled and pressed his cheeks between his hands, just like she’d done when he was little, laughing playfully that he was her little cabbage patch boy and dropped a kiss to his forehead. His eyes practically crossed as she closed in and his heart chugged in his chest. He watched her go, the shuffle of her slippers on the floor, the tired smile on her face; “Get some rest… I love you.”

Funny, really, how three words changed everything, “Me too.” 

And she was gone up the steps, clicking the light off after herself. 

Dean stood and went to each wall in turn, taking in every picture in every frame, in every album set lovingly on the shelves. Filled his brain with images of years of a life he’d always dreamed about, he sat there staring with his hand over his mouth at each picture of Sam and their mother, put together a story in his head built of Kodachrome. Laughed and bit back tears and stared in shock and horror at others. Dear Christ was that his hair? What the FUCK was dad wearing!

He fell asleep sprawled on the sofa with a photo album on his chest and woke slowly only a few short hours later, at first he was unsure where he was, shocked a second time by images of his family together and whole when his memories told him otherwise. 

The djinn. He had to tell Sam about the djinn. He sat up quickly, scrubbed a hand over his eyes and quickly dialed his brother’s number. 

Voicemail, dammit.

He took a few slow, steadying breaths and forced himself to think. He needed answers, needed research. Sam usually did the research but Sam wasn’t answering so he had little choice but to do it himself. He had to know if this was real. Had to know what was happening.

Right, okay. He pushed himself up off the sofa, patted down his pockets for his keys and wallet, paused at the foot of the stairs to listen for the sound of his mother moving around then slipped quickly out the door. He was halfway across the street to the Impala when he felt a hand clamp down on his wrist. He turned with his fist raised, jerking free of the grip, eyes wide—and saw an unwelcome, but familiar man standing there. He was dressed in baggy jeans and sneakers and a t-shirt under a jacket Dean knew was his. 

“Dean, stop—What—what happened?”

“Cas…” Dean didn’t lower his fist immediately and Cas just stared at him with his eyebrows pulled down and his head cocked to the side. He didn’t blink and it was a little weird, but Dean tried to ignore it. Everything about this was weird. 

Cas took a deep breath and stepped forward again hand cupping against Dean’s elbow; “Your mother called me back last night, told me you stayed over… That you were acting strangely. She asked me if you’d suffered a head injury. What’s wrong?”

It twisted something in his chest, it wasn’t this guy’s fault, his concern was real, the emotion was real but he—Well, that was it wasn’t it, HE. Dean had never been attracted to a man before. He’d not even given one more than a passing glance. 

Dean shrugged from under his hand as gently but quickly as he could; “Look, I—I just need some space.”

“Space?”

“I have things I need to think about, important things and I need space.”

Cas’s head tilted a little more. “What kind of important things? Maybe I can help.”

Dean sighed, “I’ve really got to go… Things I have to do—“

“I’ll come with you—“

“NO!”

Cas stopped and his expression became plainly disgruntled. “This is it, isn’t it.”

Dean turned away quickly and headed toward the car.

“This is your big homophobic ‘freak out’ everyone’s been warning me to watch out for,” He actually made quotation marks with his fingers.

Dean’s teeth clacked together and a bitter drill went up his spine; “Dude—“ I’m not gay!

Cas scowled, shoved a hand into his pocket and stomped forward.

Dean shut his door and purposefully smacked the lock on the passenger side, slid the key into the ignition—Cas stooped and glared at him through the window and the next thing Dean knew the door was unlocked and the other man was dropping into the seat, expression sober, blue eyes locked on Dean. 

“What the hell—How’d you—“

Cas held up the key chain with the floating fish on it. Now that it was dangling in his face Dean could see there was more on there too, a little silver Swiss Army knife and three keys. One of which was a replica of Dean’s. “You gave it to me, remember? After you locked yourself out in the rain three years ago and had to call a locksmith.”

Dean gaped at him. 

“You were under the influence.”

That seemed unlikely… maybe.

Cas faced forward, hands on his knees, waited a few seconds and spoke; “I believe you had important business?”

Dean swallowed with a measure of difficulty and started the engine. They drove in silence for a few minutes, Dean tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel Cas just watching the scenery fly by.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” Dean glanced at him warily.

“Last night… It—it was just supposed to be my turn and I—”

“Christ—“ Dean leaned his brow into his left hand, face scrunched uncomfortably.

Cas sighed and didn’t quite look him in the eye; “You know it doesn’t matter to me either way, you could have just said you wanted to top—“

“Can we not talk about this?”

Cas looked at him; “Did I not please you last time?”

Dean felt nauseated.

Cas’s expression pinched and twisted and he snaked a hand across the seat, brushed his fingers against Dean’s thigh and jerked back as if he’d been burned when Dean flinched. 

He sat in silence for a few minutes, hands folded between his knees and when Dean stopped at a red light Cas took a slow breath and started speaking; “Are you suffering an existential crisis?”

Dean snorted; “I don’t even know you—”

Cas looked at him and his voice was forceful. “What?”

Dean ground his teeth; “—All that well… How—how long have we been,” He swallowed around the word; “Together?”

“Romantically or platonically?” 

Christ. 

“Years, Dean… It feels like my whole lifetime.”

Well, shit.

“And your family’s OK with you being—with you being gay?”

“My family is too engrossed in its own internal conflicts to care. I haven’t spoken to anyone but my older sister in a long while, so the point is moot.” 

“Well, what if my family isn’t OK with it?”

Castiel snorted; “Your mother gave me her lasagna recipe.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. He remembered as a kid the neighbor asking and asking but Mom had kept saying no, that it was secretspecial and nobody knew it but her. 

“She stood up to your father when you told them you were bisexual… She made him apologize.” 

Dean couldn’t look at him. Something was tight in his chest. The very idea that Dad—DAD would have apologized to him for anything was absurd. He could just hear his father in his head, ranting at him, the anger and disappointment in his voice. ‘Jesus, Dean, what were you thinking!’

Dean sucked his lower lip between his teeth and chewed on it. 

“He held it against you, but he didn’t kick you out. She wouldn’t let him…”

Dean flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, still unable to meet the other man’s eyes or even speak to him. 

Cas let out a breath, “Are you breaking up with me?”

Dean tongued the backs of his teeth. How could he break up with a guy he had absolutely no memory of ever asking out?

Cas looked at him, looked away and looked at him again, then politely punched him, quite hard in the shoulder. “I asked you a question! The least you can do is answer me! After everything I think I deserve an answer you jerk!”

Dean stared at him, mouth open in a wince, eyes wide, hand on his bicep. “Jesus Christ! What the f—“

Castiel’s fist raised again, not a threat. A promise; “I know you. I’ve known you for years! You did this to your first boyfriend and you do this every time when you think too much on what your father said to you. You feel guilty for wanting something different, so you cut and run. You push your feelings down and you brush it under the rug. You throw lovers aside because you don’t have the courage to stop and let yourself become attached! Don’t you dare do that to me. Don’t you DARE!”

He just stared. The truck behind them tapped its horn and after a moment swerved around them. 

“If my gender suddenly offends you then at least have the balls to say so, don’t just bite your lip and pretend you didn’t hear me. Don’t insult me by ignoring my presence. If you’re having a crisis you tell me. We can work through it together. We’ve worked through worse and I will not tolerate your indifference now, or ever!” 

That worked.

“You’re really bossy!” Yeah, great comeback, Dean.

Castiel seemed to take it as a complement and lowered his fist; “Someone has to be, otherwise you martyr yourself… I’ve cared for you too long and too deeply to just brush off, Dean Winchester. If you’re going to do it at least respect me enough to say it to my face.” 

Dean took a deep breath and carefully checked the intersection before he crossed it, foot pressing slowly on the accelerator. 

Cas took a slow deep breath; “Where are we going.”

Dean glanced at him warily; “I need answers.”

“To what questions? I am quite knowledgeable on a number of subjects.” 

Dean snorted; “Know anything about djinn?”

“You drink it in tonic—it makes you flatulent.” 

Dean rubbed his brow with a wince; “Thanks, Cas.”

There was a slight tilt to his lips. “You’re welcome.” 

Dean’s fingers tapped out a nervous beat.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“Later.”

“You’re irritable, you always get irritable if you don’t eat.”

“After—“

“Please…” 

Dean looked at him critically. 

Cas was about his height, thin, pale, a little untidy but in a flattering way—Dean couldn’t help but look at his mouth. The guy had kissed him, it was kind of a distraction, alright? But the most surprising things were his eyes. They’d looked just run of the mill blue at first, but now they didn’t. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something more there. 

They weren’t that bright electric blue of the djinn, weren’t quite like the sky or the sea, those colors always made him feel cold and distant anyway, this was something different.

Cas’ mouth tilted up again and one eyebrow raised; “Watch the road.”

Dean blinked, glanced forward and slammed both feet onto the brake, tires squealing as they came to a stop barely six inches from the rear bumper of a large truck. “Jesus!”

Cas hummed quietly under his breath; “Glad to know I can still distract you… I didn’t even have to have my head in your lap this time.” 

Dean turned slowly and stared at him without blinking. 

Cas looked at him innocently; “So, breakfast?”

0-0-0

Cas took his coffee black with four packets of sugar. He had oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar, sausage and two eggs—sunnysideup—and half a piece of toast. 

Dean had bacon, two eggs— scrambled—hash-browns and the other half of Cas’ toast when he pushed it over on a saucer. 

Dean drank his own coffee in silence, watched Cas eat, didn’t say anything and tried to find a reason to leave without the other man. 

Cas spoke evenly, said Sylvia—some woman he apparently worked with—had invited them out for drinks on Saturday. That Maurice would be there too so Dean didn’t have to worry about a lack of conversation. He grinned again, that little half cock of his lips. “We could decline, pick up a couple six-packs, stay home and watch that monster movie marathon they’ve been showing every evening,” He took a drink of his coffee and met Dean’s eyes again, slow, purposefully. “Or… yanno.”

Dean cleared his throat and poked at some crumbs on his plate with the tines of his fork. “Listen… Cas—“

The server reappeared and asked if they needed anything else. Cas glanced over at the counter; “A piece of pecan to go…”

Dean paused, watched the woman leave and opened his mouth again—

Cas was reading over the check; “They didn’t have apple… I hope that’s fine.” 

“What?”

“The pecan… It’s not your favorite, but you always get a piece to go,” His brows pull together as he flips through his wallet; “Do you have a five for the tip? I’ve only got my card.” He slid out of the booth and went to the register without another word.

Dean followed him with his eyes, gave his head a curious shake and fished out a five from his pocket, leaving it peeking from under his coffee cup. He made it to the register just as Cas was taking the Styrofoam container from the cashier, lips compressed politely. He turned and held it out, “About your important business… How can I help?”

Dean gingerly took the box; “Uh—“ 

“Is it secret?”

“Well—“

“I’m very good at keeping secrets.” 

“No doubt… But I can handle this on my own.” 

“I don’t mind. I like helping you.” 

“Cas, man, really—“

“Dean,” It wasn’t the tone, it was the fact his voice dropped half an octave and the look in his eye. Calm and cool and plainly matter of fact. “I’m not leaving.” 

Dean stared at him, trying to glare him down, intimidate him into backing off… But Cas just stared back as if he didn’t quite grasp the concept of dominating someone with your eyes. Or maybe he just didn’t care… Maybe it didn’t work on him or something—who cared. 

Dean mumbled profanity under his breath and backed quickly out of the parking lot. 

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	2. Tag Along

0-0-0

It was a long, tense wait at the university and Dean bowed his head toward Cas and whispered; “Just play along… Don’t bust my balls over this. Just keep quiet and let me do the talking.” 

Castiel nodded and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Can I do other things to your balls?”

How the other man had managed to say that with a straight face Dean would never understand, he felt heat burst in his face and ears, working quickly down his neck. 

Of course, THAT would be when the professor opened his door and motioned them in. 

Dean spouted something off about research and archetypes and the whole time he kept picturing Cas’s mouth and those ‘other things’ he wanted to do to Dean’s balls. The idea of it made him just a little… kinda… maybe… warmnervousanxiousexcited. It was a strange feeling, how his mind went off on its own, conjuring up vivid fantastical images of pink lips and tongues and he’d have to yank the focus back to the present conversation. 

“What can you tell me about djinns?”

The professor nodded, explained about the concept of a creature birthed of ‘fire without smoke’ a creature made before humans, stronger but organized with their own religion, their own jobs and families and powers beyond human imaginings. Dean nodded, knew most of that already, asked about djinns in religious texts, circumstances by which one may encounter them and what may happen if one does. What they could do, what they couldn’t.

“That,” The professor said, rubbing his palms on the arm rests of his chair then pushing himself up, “Requires an understanding of their origin and purpose;” He drew a few texts off the shelves, laid them out on the tables and waved the two younger men over. “A lot of Muslims believe the djinn are very real. They’re mentioned in the Koran and Hadiths—“

Dean made a rolling gesture with his hand over the texts, as if wafting away smoke; “Yeahyeahyeah, I know, get to the wish part.”

The professor, for a moment looked visibly insulted, one eyebrow lifted; “What about it?”

“Do you think they can really do it?” Dean met his eyes evenly.

“Uhm—“ He blinked, surprised, confused, “No… No, I don’t think they can ‘really do it’,” He licked his lips nervously; “You do understand these are mythic creatures.”

“Yeah, I know—I know…” Cas was on the other side of the room looking out the window. Dean lowered his voice so he wasn’t overheard, “But in the stories! Yanno, say you had a wish but you never even said it out loud. Well, like that—uhm—a loved one never died, or that… somethin’ awful never happened.”

Castiel’s eyes tilted in his direction, brows pulled down.

“Supposedly, yes… I mean, they have godlike power. They can alter reality however they want—Past, present, future—“

“Why would the djinn do it? It was self-defense? Or maybe it’s not really evil.”

The professor put a hand on Dean’s shoulder; “Son?”

“Hmm?” He looked up.

“You been drinkin’?”

Dean snorted and met the older man’s eyes evenly, amused; “Everybody keeps askin’ me that. But… No.”

Castiel seemed unimpressed as they left the building, muttered something about poorly translated Arabic and rubbed the space between his eyebrows; “Do you have aspirin? I’m getting a headache.” 

Dean looked at him evenly, still unsure why he’d let him tag along in the first place and watched as he rolled his head on his slim neck, lower lip between straight teeth, brows crooked—It was almost—  
“Yeah—uh… Sure, it—it’s in the back.”

Castiel nodded and popped open the passenger door, sliding in and pressing his head back against the seat. 

Dean watched him in the side mirror, distracted by his throat, the freshly bitten fullness of his lower lip and forced himself to focus on his keys instead; “What am I doing? What am I doing…” He let his breath out in a whoosh and glanced left and right before he popped open the trunk. For half a second he thought he’d been robbed. Thought some whacko had broken into his trunk and stolen all his shit. He even reached in and felt around, knocked paper cups and crumpled titty magazines left and right, found a strip of three condoms with one missing and the empty packet still clinging on, shuddered and tossed it behind the spare tire, pulled at the carpet nap in shock and only belatedly realized there wasn’t anything in there because there hadn’t been a need for it. Normal people didn’t have an arsenal in their trunks… and for all intents and purposes, Dean Winchester was now NORMAL. Capital ‘N’ and all.

He chuckled, amused by his own reaction and rocked back on his heels holding the trunk open with one hand, the other twirling his keys for lack of more important occupation; “Well, damn.” 

He let out a breath between pursed lips, like a horse or something because the moment deserved some kind of recognition, a salute maybe and fished around a little more because he knew, civilian or not, there had to be some kind of pain reliever in here. He couldn’t find any aspirin, but there was a squat little bottle of no-name-brand ibuprofen with three pills in the bottom, two of which were broken. He shook the bottle, as if maybe one was just stuck in the rim out of his sight and popped the lid back on as he shut the trunk. 

He rattled the bottle in his hand, stepped around the rear fender and that’s when he saw her. She looked like just any other girl on the campus. Dark hair, white blouse and skirt… But unlike the other students she was just standing there staring at him. 

Any Normal person’s first thought would have been ‘she’s just drunk’ and they wouldn’t have given a second look… Dean, although apparently newly dubbed ‘Normal’ didn’t think that way. There was something out of place about her. Everyone else had umbrellas, or jackets or warmer clothing… This girl was sleeveless, in white… She was pale and still and she didn’t blink—Why wasn’t she blinking?

That sickeningly sweet taste was back in his throat again, a weird throb in his head, tingling numbness in his fingertips, like he’d fallen asleep on his arm and cut off the circulation. He could hear water dripping. Not the steady soft pitterpat of the rain falling around him… Slow… deep… echoing—

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The screech of tires on wet asphalt. Chattering college students—

“Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with you!” The guy behind the wheel of the red station wagon gave him the finger and as Dean took a step backward, hands up in an attempt to placate the man, trying to smile but coming off more as a wince. He looked up again and the girl was gone. As if she had never been. 

A million things rushed through his head at once. Ghost… Young girl, college campus, wearing all white. Probably a pledge. Sorority girl then, have to check around, mysterious disappearances in the last fifteen—no better make it twenty-five—

“DEAN!” A hand on his shoulder, pulling, spinning him around. 

Castiel’s eyes were wide, bright and furious; “What are you doing? You just walked right in front of that car. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Dean’s mouth seemed to be disconnected from his brain and proceeded to just open and close fish like instead of speaking.

Castiel’s other hand was on his other arm now as well, pinching and worrying at the fabric near his elbow, expression contemplative; “What’s going on? You—Something’s not right… Did you hit your head? Are—are you sick? What were you talking about back there? What’s going on?”

Blue… Blue eyes and a scruffy face and lips that had suggested doing THINGS to him not twenty minutes ago. There was an unyielding strength in Castiel’s hands, a sternness in the creases of his brow and tiny, microscopic little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. 

If this was real… If the djinn had really given this to him, where did Castiel come into it? Dean had never pictured himself with a guy before. He’d been curious enough to check out some guyonguy porn, show him a guy who hadn’t been curious before, but never to the extent that he’d looked at another man and said; ‘Damn, I want that,’ so what was it then, that made this one different? That would make Dean take notice of him. What was so different about him that HE was the one? 

“How did we meet?”

Cas blinked, despair flipping quickly to rage and back to heartache; “What?”

“Just tell me again… how we met.” 

The knob of his throat bobbed up and down again, Castiel’s brows pinched together. “You were in an accident… I pulled you out.” 

“A car accident?”

“A bar fight… They—they were going to kill you.” 

Dean blinked; “You pulled me out of a bar fight?”

He nodded hands sliding up Dean’s arms, catching his lapels and rubbing his thumbs against them; “I hold _dan ___in four different forms of martial arts—“

_“You hold what?”_

Cas looked up at him and said; “I could incapacitate you in three hundred different ways before you knew I was moving. You know that.” 

Dean’s eyebrows became good friends with his hairline. “You’re a ninja?” 

“I prefer Jedi Master.” 

Dean kept a straight face. He’s not sure how, but he did. 

“They had you pinned to a chain link fence in the parking lot. So, I… stopped them.” 

Dean nodded, lips pursed. “You mean you kicked their asses.” 

Cas took a deep breath and bowed his head onto Dean’s chest; “Six ways of Sunday.'' 

Dean chuckled and realized his hands had somehow found Cas’s waist under his jacket he didn’t know when that had happened, but he didn’t pull away once he had noticed it, he didn’t want the guy to think he was suddenly not OK with touching when to Cas, he’d been fine with it for years, last thing he needed was punched again—especially not now that he knew the little guy could conceivably kill him with his own thumb; “Okay… My—boyfriend’s a badass.” 

“I’m a corporate accountant that was bullied mercilessly as a child, I’m not a ‘badass’.” 

Dean stepped back, scanning the people around them warily, uncomfortable to have been practically hugging a guy, in public no less. “Oh,” He held out the pill bottle; “Here… for your head. It’s all I have.” 

Castiel took it with an appreciative grunt and before Dean could step away the shorter man’s fingers had slid down his arm and hooked against his own. He wanted to flinch, but didn’t, just stood there staring down where Cas’s thumb, index and middle fingers had caught his own. It wasn’t even really a full ‘hand hold’ just something casual, barely a touch. 

Dude… You’re holding another dude’s hand. 

His eyes traveled up Castiel’s arm to his face. How he tipped the pill bottle up over his mouth and swallowed all three pills dry, even the broken ones that tasted bad, then turned and pitched the little bottle overhand into the garbage can across the street. 

Castiel’s face was a little pale, a little sweaty. 

“You OK?” He gave the fingers hooked on his own a little shake. 

“Headache… I-I need to sit down.” 

Dean didn’t start the engine immediately, just sat there and watched Cas shift in his seat, curl his fingers around his eyes and slouch, just a little. “Hey, Cas?'' 

“Hmm?'' 

“You pissed at me for taking off last night?” 

“Worried… not pissed. If I was pissed you’d know it,” One blue eye peered out between his fingers then disappeared again. “You ran home to your mother without telling me what was wrong. I get that you’re emotionally constipated sometimes. Really, I do, but how do you expect me to fix the problem if you don’t let me know it’s there?'' 

“It’s my problem, not yours.” 

“If it’s your problem, it’s OUR problem, so just—out with it.” 

He gritted his teeth and fixed his eyes on the Styrofoam box in the seat between them. “When I figure it out I’ll tell you.” 

“At least tell me if it’s about Us or not.” 

“I don’t—I don’t know.” 

“Are you going to break up with me?” He didn’t lift his hand, didn’t move, nothing. 

He didn’t know… but he didn’t say that. “I just—I don’t… feel like I know you at all.” 

“You know practically everything about me.” 

“Do I?'' 

Castiel turned his head and for a long few minutes they just looked at one another. 

“Do you want to know me, Dean?” 

Did he? Did he want to try whatever this was he’d been given, or push it away and go after what he was used to? Go after the fast aggressive women in the seedy bars, one night stands in hotels with questionable stains on the ceilings and carpets, waitresses with the questionable rashes. The instant gratification of anonymous sex as opposed to something steady… This guy with his nameless blue eyes and lost expression, the one he’d woken up beside just last night with his face smashed into a pillow and his cold toes pressed into the backs of Dean’s knees. This guy who unspoken wishes said was ‘The One’. 

What was this? This didn’t seem like anything he’d seen before, in movies or in porn and he’d watched a lot of both. How did someone DO relationships? They always seemed so complicated but this… this seemed like it might be easy. From what he’d discovered about Cas so far, he seemed like an OK kind of guy. Bossy and perhaps slightly voyeuristic, with his comments about Dean’s balls, his long slow looks and weirdly casual touches that rocked the Intimacy Richter Scale… Could he do that? Could he BE WITH a guy? 

Could he KNOW Cas?” 

“I think I would… frighteningly enough.” 

Castiel looked at him and it took a few seconds of Dean staring at him and waiting for a response to realize that he was smiling. It was subtle, mostly in his eyes and yeah, OK. Cas is not that bad looking… In fact he’s kind of… kind of OK to look at. 

“Okay,” He lets his eyes close and doesn’t reach for Dean’s hand, which is more of a relief than if he’d wanted to full out cuddle right there in the front seat in broad daylight. He takes a deep breath and shields his eyes from the gray sunlight; “You better eat that pie before your mother sees it… You know how she is about dessert before dinner.” 

Dean didn’t argue with that. He didn’t have a fork so he spent a few minutes sucking his fingers clean and trying to ignore the way Cas watched him between his fingers as he did it, dropped the container into the back and turned the key in the ignition. The drive back to his mother’s was quiet. Castiel didn’t ask about the djinn, he probably would, but he hadn’t yet. It stopped raining somewhere between the campus and home—Mom’s home… THE HOUSE and the sky cleared. Dean climbed out and watched as Cas oozed out as well, eyes squinted, face still a little pale. 

“I need coffee.” 

“Did you not sleep last night?” Dean knew the answer even before the words were out of his mouth. 

“You—uh—you want me to take you home?” 

Cas grunted and followed him inside. 

Mary was in the kitchen, putting cups and plates in the dishwasher. “Back already?” She paused, lips curling up into a smile when she saw Cas and gave Dean a pointed look of relief; “Why don’t you lie down on the couch for a while… and Dean can help me with the dishes.” 

__Cas nodded stiffly and toed off his shoes under the coffee table before he rolled over and ignored the world for a while._ _

__Dean shrugged out of his coat and folded it over the back of the couch, only for it to be pulled over Cas’s head like a circus tent. “You gonna hiss at me if I peek under there, Dracula?”_ _

__“Maybe.”_ _

__Dean shook his head and beelined it to the kitchen._ _

__Mary was already there, standing over the dishwasher with a grin on her face. “You had me worried.”_ _

__“Huh?”_ _

__“You come in here last night drunk and he calls me to say you just left without so much as a goodbye? Sweetheart,” She caught his sleeve in her little hand and pinched him, just hard enough to sting; “I’ve seen your arguments before. I was afraid you’d broken it off or something.”_ _

__He looked at her, unable to let a single word pass him by; “We argue a lot?”_ _

__She crosses her arms lightly, putting a barrier between them; “Everybody argues—“_ _

__He looks at her._ _

__“You just… have to learn to compromise.”_ _

__“Compromise about what?”_ _

__She gave him a pointed look, one of those ‘you know’ looks, but Dean really doesn’t know so he just stares back blankly._ _

__Mary touches his elbow, lightly, as if she’s trying to break some bad news or something; “You have a lot of your father in you—It’s not a bad thing, but… Sometimes… You just have to do what FEELS right instead of what you THINK is right.”_ _

__“Whatta you mean?” He leaned his hips against the counter top nearby and crossed his arms._ _

__She looked him right in the eye when she said it; “Men aren’t women, Dean… Being—being WITH one is different… You can’t be the tough guy all the time, sometimes he wants to be the tough guy.”_ _

__His brows scrunch, hers lift emphatically._ _

__He feels like his face is on fire; “Oh…” Holy shit he’s talking about sex with his mother… Gay sex at that. “Oh.”_ _

__She smiled, let out a little huff of laughter and shook her head. “It’s OK to let someone else take the wheel sometimes… it doesn’t make you any less of a man.”_ _

__“Aw, cripes…” He could FEEL the blood pumping into his face; “Can—can we not talk about this?”_ _

__She pursed her lips, giggled and finished rinsing off the pots and pans before she slid them into the rack._ _

__“Did you have breakfast?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__She hummed and gave him one of those ‘you are so busted’ grins he’s used to getting from Sam; “Pie isn’t real breakfast, Dean.”_ _

__“Bacon and eggs—”_ _

__She brushed her palm across his chest, knocking crumbs from the folds of his clothing; “Oh, yes… Bacon and eggs leave pie crumbs. How stupid of me… Sit.”_ _

__He sat, picked more crumbs off his shirt and watched his mother move around. Had the weird urge to swing his feet excitedly under the table, but settled on tapping out a tattoo with his fingertips. Who was he to turn down food his mother was making for him? Who would do that, seriously!_ _

__Cas was out cold on the couch when he’d finished eating, slept through the adventure with the lawnmower and didn’t even flinch when he rolled the cold butt of his beer bottle across the back of the smaller man’s neck._ _

__Dean snorted in amusement, at least until he caught sight of his mother watching him with an eyebrow lifted, then he fled outside to admire his work in peace._ _

__He was contemplating calling inside and asking if the garbage needed to be taken out and what the status was on gutter cleaning when a cobalt blue Prius rolled to a stop at the end of the walk._ _

__“I don’t believe it…” He was on his feet before the whispering engine even clicked off and had both arms clamped around her shoulders, her thin small body pulled tight against his chest and her feet probably dangling a few inches off the ground; “Jessica.”_ _

__She grunted breathlessly; “Goodtoseeyoutoodean.”_ _

__He wanted to laugh, wanted to turn his face to the sky and just—LAUGH. Sam had his girl back. Sam had been at school, Sam’s life was OK, was whole and unblemished. And even if his brother looked like a nerd in his fancy little white jacket and his electric car, Dean could be happy for him. Could be more than happy for him because this is what his brother deserved. He deserved to have all that awfulness erased. More than anything._ _

__Jessica patted his back gently with her fingertips; “Can’t breathe…”_ _

__He pulled back quickly and set her back on her feet, holding her at arm’s length just to look at her._ _

__He clapped his brother on the shoulder when he made it around the car and pulled him in as well, too excited to really know what he was saying, just stupidly happy and eager to see his brother’s reaction to this turn of events._ _

__Sam’s expression was guarded and his eyes raked up and down over Dean, caught on his hand and went lightning quick to his face; “See you started off Mom’s birthday with a bang, as usual.”_ _

__He blinked, still grinning, like a fucking circus monkey; “Wait, Mom’s birthday? That’s today?”_ _

__Sam’s breath came out in an exasperated huff; “Yeah, yeah that’s today. That’s why we’re here—Don’t tell me you forgot.”_ _

__He smiled, shook his head, flapped his mouth and stood there staring into the street with his heart in his neck as Sam and Jess walked up the path to the house._ _

__Well, shit._ _

__He finished his beer, smile still on his face and went inside, Hey! Look, yay! Sammy’s home… Mom’s happy, alright! Slipped into the living room and lunged over the couch, hissing through his coat into Cas’s ear. “It’s her birthday…”_ _

__“You think?”_ _

__“Did I forget it?”_ _

__“Obviously.”_ _

__His knees tried to give out and his fingers curled into claws gripping at the air as he turned around. He wanted to pound his head against something. How could he have forgotten?_ _

__“Luckily for you, I didn’t,” Cas muttered just loud enough that Dean could hear him. “It’s at the house… We can pick it up when we go home to change for dinner.”_ _

__“Dinner? What dinner?”_ _

__“Why am I with you again?”_ _

__“Uh—Cause I’m good in bed?”_ _

__Cas lifted the edge of the coat up and sighed; “Tell me another one.”_ _

__“Free oil changes?”_ _

__“Go on.”_ _

__“That’s—that’s actually all I got.”_ _

__“It’s OK…” He lowered the coat over himself again, like a clam receding into its shell; “I like you anyway.”_ _

__0-0-0_ _

__‘Changing for dinner’ turned out to be a lot more extensive than just taking a shower and putting on a clean shirt._ _

__Cas made him put on a frickin tie. It felt like a noose and the shirt he’d put on itched. He felt out of place, like a toad in a cat show or something equally absurd. There was a piano in the corner and the waiters wore bowties. There was carpet on the floor and the tablecloths looked to have a higher thread-count than the total of all sheets he’d ever slept on in his life added together. Even the beer came in a funny little fluty glass with a gold ring on the lip instead of a bottle. He felt weird just holding it, like he may squeeze it too hard and break it—and when it came to the food he didn’t know whether to eat it or ask for the provenance._ _

__“Wow, that looks awesome,” If by awesome you mean vaguely phallic shaped._ _

__It was worth it though, just to see his mother smiling and those content, secretive glances Sam and Jess gave one another, or those quick little suggestive kisses they kept sharing. He couldn’t help but watch, just so—ravenously happy._ _

__Cas leaned toward him while Mom was talking to Sam about something and nudged his own food with his fork; “Doesn’t asparagus turn your pee green?”_ _

__Dean snorted into his beer._ _

__“Do you think they’ll notice if we just push it around some? I don’t really want to touch it… Is that a tentacle? I swear, I’d punch my father in the nuts for a decent burger right about now—“_ _

__He couldn’t keep from laughing, thankfully though Sam had said something amusing and everyone else was chuckling at a polite level and nobody gave Dean another sideways concerned look._ _

__It was a good night in Dean’s book, which was saying something because there were a total of maybe two of them ever that were THIS good. The other of which being the night before when he’d realized that was his MOTHER standing there and not some creature in disguise._ _

__How did people do this normally without dying from sore grinning cheeks? How were they able to function? How could someone complain about this and that and the other when they got to go home every night and sleep in their beds and bask in the illusion of safety and omnipotence. How did people go on with their lives without dancing around like crazy people in excitement and appreciation that their lives were whole and uncomplicated?_ _

__Yeah, there were bills and parking tickets and having to go to work when you’d rather be outside in the sun, but those people weren’t out fighting for their lives against things ten and twenty and a hundred times stronger than them. They weren’t constantly on the run, moving from town to town and risking their lives so that the rest of the world could remain oblivious and take the little things for granted. How could anyone not appreciate THIS?_ _

__A family who loved them, laughter and acceptance, a warm hand to hold and a joke whispered in one’s ear. How could you willingly choose anything other than this?_ _

__Cas’s fingers are warm where they find his under the table. They twitch, then curl around his like a vice. Deceptively strong, but gentle in the same instant with broad flat nails and little calluses from holding a pen and typing and shuffling papers, perhaps from workouts as well. Kicking asses and taking names._ _

__He was a little speechless for Sam and Jess after their announcement, wanted to just pull them both into his arms and squeeze and just FEEL this gratitude and happiness and relief, burn it onto his soul so he would never forget it. He grips his brother’s shoulder and opens his mouth to speak—_ _

__She’s standing there, near the entrance—Pale and gaunt, her clothes are torn and dirty and she isn’t blinking. She’s staring right at him with wide, dead eyes and somewhere water’s dripping._ _

__He’s halfway across the room before he realizes he’s moved, has rammed right into a waiter and nobody’s laughing anymore. They’re all staring at him, displeased, insulted, afraid…_ _

__There is no girl. No ghost, and Dean feels like he’s naked under their stares, all his layers peeled back like onion skin to the withered green heart of him, pulsing and writhing with a wretched life all its own._ _

__He swallows a strange taste, like something that had once been sweet and pure slowly souring, like vomiting after eating too many Moon Pies._ _

__He doesn’t feel like eating anymore. Has an ache in his head like a hangover on steroids but clears his throat, whispers an apology to the waiter and shuffles back to the table with a collected look on his face. Nothing to see here, everything’s cool. I meant to do that._ _

__Mom clears her throat and asks Jess if they’ve made any plans. A date, a dress? And slowly the conversation builds up again into soft laughter and excitement. Dean hangs back from it, feels Castiel’s hand nudge his own on the tabletop and lets their fingers bump together for a while, like fat caterpillars meeting on a stroll._ _

__Dean catches Sam’s eyes on them a moment later and is about to withdraw when he realizes there isn’t any disgust or alarm on Sam’s face. Merely curiosity, a placid soft kind of curiosity at that, not the burgeoning hurricane of NEEDTOKNOW he’s used to. It’s the same look Sam gives five-packs of t-shirts in the K-mart when he finds them with all his favorite colors in one package. Or when he discovers something on a diner menu that doesn’t appear to be deep fried. It’s a look he reserves for delightful little surprises like an extra twenty in his wallet, or a bullet in the chamber._ _

__Dean’s been a curiosity to his brother before, but never one like this. Sam’s seen him with lovers, with one night stands and as a kid with girls he’d thought maybe would last longer than two weeks. Has caught him with his pants around his ankles and his dick in his hand, but this look is different. It’s a knowing look. Sam meets his eyes, just for a second, eyebrows up lips curled into a crooked little grin that says; ‘I saw that. I saw you being cute.’_ _

__And weirdly enough, Dean is alright with that._ _

__The drive back to Mom’s place is quiet, Cas is sitting a little closer and every so often he reaches over and brushes his fingers against Dean’s where he’s intentionally left them on the seat. It’s a weird quiet, nothing seems to be missing from it and Dean is intrigued enough by Cas’s presence and that little growing bud of warmth in his chest to not pull away._ _

__It’s rained again, not much, just enough to wet the streets and leave little drops on the windshield as they pass under trees or street signs and the radio is turned on low, just a background hum over the sound of the tires._ _

__“Did you see the size of that ring?” Cas says it mostly to himself._ _

__Dean huffed out a quiet laugh; “They deserve it… Sam deserves to be happy—I’m glad he’s happy.”_ _

__“Do you think they’ll start a family right away or wait until they’re out of school?”_ _

__Dean’s mind’s eye is filled with images of chubby bouncing babies, swarms of them, nieces and nephews and Sam with baby food in his hair. “Jesus,” His face hurts from smiling; “Sam and Jess havin’ kids? That—that’d be awesome.”_ _

__Cas chuckles and his lips curl up just a little bit more._ _

__“Sammy the booger wiper… Yeah that’s awesome.”_ _

__Cas stops chuckling and just looks at him evenly, “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic… Do—are you serious?”_ _

__“Hell yeah, I’m serious.”_ _

__Cas scoffs, quite loudly; “Weren’t you telling me just last week that you thought your brother was two-faced and stuck-up and that you pitied anything that would ‘spring from his loins’?”_ _

__Dean’s eyebrows met his hairline for drinks; “I said that?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Naw—no… Really?” He shook his head, “No… Sammy’ll make a great dad. Yeah. You just wait and see.”_ _

__Cas leaned back in his seat eyes raking up and down Dean’s frame; “Who are you and what have you done with Dean?”_ _

__His blood ran cold and he forced a smile on his face, looked at Cas askance; “Come on, man—“_ _

__“No, really… What’s going on with you. You run out without a word, you leave a mess of broken glass I have to clean up. You scare your mother. Scare ME, skip work—Which I had to LIE about by the way. I don’t like lying, Dean, you know that— You try to LEAVE me here and run off to ask college theology professors about mythic creatures. You step out in front of cars and imply that you might break up with me—And on top of all this, now you’re praising your little brother, who I might add, you’ve spent years complaining about… I—What happened?”_ _

__Dean swallows a lump in his throat; “I-I just had… my priorities sorted for me, I guess.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“I… I just finally realized what I’d been missing.”_ _

__Cas’s eyes narrow and his head tilts to the side slowly._ _

__Dean feels that warm bud in his chest swell a little more and he doesn’t know why. He clears his throat, swallows and speaks slowly; “I-uh—I had a dream, alright? I had a dream and things were very different. It—it felt real—Hell, it WAS real… and I can’t shake it.”_ _

__“You had a nightmare?”_ _

__He can’t look Cas in the face; “Yeah, a twenty-three year nightmare.”_ _

__Castiel blinks at him slowly; “What was different?”_ _

__“Well, I’d never met you, for one—“_ _

__“Scary.”_ _

__“—Smartass…” He took a deep breath and let it out, eyes locked on the taillights of Sam and Jessica’s car. “Everything… Mom was—and Jess… And Sam was alone… We were all each other had and Dad was dead because of me. Sam’s life was ruined because of me.”_ _

__“What do you mean?”_ _

__Dean looked at him, fingers nervously drumming. Cas had turned in his seat a little, loosened his tie and his eyes— Jesus why couldn’t he figure this out? They were blue. Blueblueblue._ _

__He just said it. All of it. His whole life in the two minutes it took for the light to change. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the same reason he’d told Cassie about it all those years ago. Maybe he was still a little young and stupid and—_ _

__Castiel was quiet through all of it, nodded and blinked in surprise when the story called for it but he didn’t say anything. It made Dean feel caged in, made him feel like Cas might just open the door and fling himself into traffic to escape his crazy, or maybe just throw his head back and laugh, tell him he’d had too much to drink and pat his head._ _

__Cas did none of those things. He sat quietly the rest of the ride with his brows pulled together pensively, and when they stopped and the engine was ticking he leaned over and caught Dean by the face, pressed his jaws between his hands and kissed him._ _

__The streetlight flickered like a naked bulb and Dean could hear the buzz of electricity through fragile old wires, a steady soft drip in echoing blackness…_ _

__Cas wrapped his fingers in Dean’s and squeezed, held his hand all the way up the walk and into his mother’s house._ _

__Jess and Mom were talking about flower arrangements; calla lily and fern as opposed to roses and baby’s breath. Palo Alto has spectacular venues… A vineyard before the harvest, grapes as center pieces—_ _

__“So, Dean… What was—What was all that back at the restaurant?” Sam’s gaze was accusing and Dean felt small beneath it, insignificant. Dad had looked at him like that a couple times and it made his stomach twist._ _

__“Ah—Well I thought I saw something… I’m sure it’s nothin’…”_ _

__Mom cleared her throat; “Well, I had a lovely birthday, thank you. ‘Night.”_ _

__Dean smiled, watched her go and felt relief flood through him because tomorrow morning she’d be there and for the first time in years he wasn’t worried about going to sleep that night._ _

__Sam turned away, the subject of their brief conversation forgotten; “Well, I’m beat… You ready to turn in?”_ _

__Jessica’s reply was just a little too energetic and the first thought through Dean’s head was that his baby brother was going to have sex under the same roof as their mother and that creeped him out a little bit—Not that he wanted to cock block the guy or anything—It was Jess for Christ sake, part of him wanted to shove condoms at Sam and tell him to go at it, but at the same time he was brimming with energy. This was all new and exciting and the night was still young. When did Sammy ever go to bed before two AM anyway?_ _

__“Alright, night guys,” He nodded to his brother and said; “Good to see you, Cas.”_ _

__“Hey—Wait a second—Wait a second… Come on, it’s not even nine-a-clock yet, let’s uh—let’s go have a drink or somethin’—“_ _

__“Yeah, yeah,” Sam’s eyes were even and there was a little wrinkle of tension between his brows… Jessica’s expression was indulgent but her jaw was clenched. “Maybe another time.”_ _

__Dean felt a laugh bubble in his throat; “Come on, man. Look at us!” He gestured with open arms, “We’ve both have beautiful people on our arms. You’re engaged—Come on! Let’s go celebrate!”_ _

__How could Sam just want to go to sleep?_ _

__Sam was smiling but it was the kind of professional, greasy smile Dean had seen on actors and politicians. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and slid seamlessly into business mode. Like the Dad from Leave it to Beaver… Dean half expected him to hook his thumbs in his suspenders or produce a pipe from somewhere._ _

__“Okay… Jess, Cas, can you excuse us, I just wanna talk to my brother for a second—thanks.”_ _

__Cas looked over his shoulder warily as Jess pulled him into the other room, but he went willingly, turned and pulled her hand up to get a good look at her ring._ _

__Sam’s smile lasted for all of ten seconds. His hands went into his pockets and his shoulders went back._ _

__Dean looked at him, eyebrows up innocently._ _

__“Come here.”_ _

__Dean felt like he had as a teenager, when John had wanted to reprimand him in private where none of the civilians would become suspicious. “What?” It came out defensive but he was actually curious._ _

__Sam maneuvered around the furniture as if he’d been doing it his whole life, guided him into the dining room where it was unlikely they would be overheard._ _

__“Okay,” He let out a breath, like he’d been holding back and this was where things got serious, “What’s gotten into you?”_ _

__“What do you mean?”_ _

__“I mean this whole—“ He gestured between the two of them; “Warm fuzzy, ecstasy trip thing.”_ _

__“Well, I’m just happy for you, Sammy—“_ _

__Sam’s greasy, uncomfortable smile was back and he stepped deliberately from under Dean’s hand; “Yeah, right, that’s another thing… Since when do you call me ‘Sammy’?”_ _

__Dean balked._ _

__“Dean, come on… We don’t talk outside of holidays.”_ _

__It was like a physical blow. He had to take a breath to re-center himself; “We don’t?”_ _

__Sam shook his head, eyebrows up, lips doing that weird ‘I am very uncomfortable with this’ half smile half grimace thing._ _

__“Well, we should, I mean, you’re my brother!”_ _

__“You’re my brother,” Sam seemed to finally get it. “You know that’s not what you said when you snaked my ATM card.”_ _

__Dean’s throat squeezed in a little._ _

__“Or, when you bailed on my graduation… Or—“ His expression tightened in amusement and barely withheld rage; “—when you hooked up with Rachel Nave.”_ _

__“Who?”_ _

__To Sam it seemed like the icing on the cake; “Uh, my prom date… on… prom night.”_ _

__“Yeah… that does kinda sound like me—“ He thumped his palm twice into Sam’s chest; “Well, man, I’m sorry about all that, but—“_ _

__Sam knocked his hand away; “No, no it’s alright, man… I just… You know I’m not askin’ you to change. I just… uh— I don’t know. Guess we just don’t really have anything in common. You know?”_ _

__There was a clear, ‘drop it and back off’ in Sam’s tone. The sound of old wounds Dean had no memory of dealing left to fester. This Sam resented him… And it—it hurt._ _

__Sam pushed past him with a sigh and Dean reached for him, caught the sleeve of his expensive suit; “Yes we do… Yes we do.”_ _

__Sam gave his head a shake; “What?”_ _

__It was harder to work up to than Dean thought it would be, so he just kind of… said it; “Hunting.”_ _

__“Hunting?” There was definite pity in Sam’s eyes now; “I’ve never been hunting in my life, Dean.”_ _

__“Yeah… Well,” He swallowed; “We should go sometime… I think you’d be great at it.”_ _

__Sam raised his eyebrows and nodded, one of those ‘please let this just end’ looks and turned away._ _

__Dean wanted to call after him because that was Sam, his Sammy and there was just something wrong about a world where they weren’t together. He’d spent his whole life focused on keeping his little brother safe and happy but now—now it was as if all of that had been erased. Sam had his girl, he had Mom and a lifetime of memories of love and laughter and security… without Dean. He had everything he wanted and Dean wasn’t a part of it._ _

__Sam paused and turned back, said; “Get some rest,” in a tone that made Dean think of severing ties and watching someone die from afar. Of pity and withheld disgust and sadness._ _

__Castiel came after him a moment later as Sam and Jessica’s steps retreated up the staircase. He tilted his head again, childlike and curious; “You OK?”_ _

__The air felt chilled, damp and his wrists ached. Like he’d had his hands in cold water and his nail beds had turned blue. He rubbed his hands on the legs of his slacks to try and coax warmth and sensation back into them._ _

__“Dean?”_ _

__Castiel’s hand was warm, fingers hooking on his own, shaking his arm. Dean felt momentarily dizzy and rocked on his feet, let himself be pulled quietly away, out the door and into the street._ _

__0-0-0_ _

__0-0-0_ _

__0-0-0_ _


	3. Paradiso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact Dean is wearing a different shirt after the restaurant scene tells me he spent more than one 'day' under the djinn's power. That's where this chapter came from.
> 
> Hope you like it.

He sleeps on the couch. Can't really bring himself to climb into bed with another man just yet. Maybe not ever... It's not Cas's fault. He's an OK guy, really. He's funny, smart, hadn't freaked out and called the cops or the funny farm. He'd taken it all in stride, even if he'd been under the impression it was a 'Dream'. Hell, Cas isn't even bad looking, his eyes-Dean doesn't know what it is but there's something just-different about Cas's eyes. 

It's not even the idea of Cas that's the problem, Dean's open minded, he's seen too much shit in his life not to be OK with people finding happiness where they may, his father's prejudices notwithstanding. He's just... nervous about it all. To Cas they've been in a relationship, a RELATIONSHIP, for YEARS. They've probably done all those sappy, gooey, chick-flicky couply things like the movies. They've probably gone to the movies together, spent Holidays together, bought one another birthday presents, used the toilet while the other was in the shower-and how is he going to explain to Cas that HE hasn't ever been with someone long enough to even feel comfortable taking off his shoes in their presence unless for sex? 

'No, no, it's cool, yeah you can stay and we can hang out, get to know one another... again. But no sex or cuddling or anything like that, alright? That kind of creeps me out because of that 'nightmare' I had, remember?'

Yeah, sure. Brilliant.

But Castiel doesn't push, doesn't even ask, just leaves the door open incase Dean changes his mind. 

Dean lays there for a long time, just staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet. Cars moving on the street, the rain, Cas moving to and from the bathroom. The soft squeak of the bed, books shifting, pages turning. 

Neither of them actually sleep, but Cas comes out bright and early the next morning wearing another suit and carrying a leather messenger bag/briefcase thing with a rain coat draped over it and pauses over the couch.

Dean can feel him staring, but feigns sleep just because he feels no desire to have a conversation this early in the morning. 

Cas doesn't say anything for a while just stands there looking at him and breathing quietly. Dean thinks for a moment that Cas might just stand there all day staring at him but then the smaller man exhales and the words come out in a whisper; "You have today off... If-I'll call you on my lunch break..."

Dean doesn't reply, intends to uphold his illusion of unconsciousness but then there's a touch, warmth. And he can smell Castiel's cologne. He's never smelled anything like it-Can't even find words in his head to describe it and a wide, rough palm pushes his hair back, soft lips on his cheek and the gentle prickle of a few stray hairs on his jaw. 

"I love you, Dean..."

And when he lifts his head a moment later Castiel's gone. An engine rumbles in the driveway, but it's not the Impala. He pushes himself up and looks out the window, spots Cas peering out the window of a truck as he waits for another car to pass so he can merge onto the street. It's not a big truck, but the engine sounds nice. White with black lines in all the right places. There's a two gallon gas can in the back lashed down with bungee cords and it looks like someone tossed a Bud-Lite can in there too because it rattles around as Cas pulls away. 

The apartment seems empty, cold. His phone rings twice but he doesn't answer it, instead he gets dressed, pulls on his jacket and leaves for a while. Goes to the library and combs through missing person's reports in the area for twenty-five years looking for the girl in white. 

There's nothing. 

He asks around if anybody knows about a death or disappearance at the college, sorority girl probably. 

Nobody knows anything. 

He's tempted to fabricate a badge of some sort. FBI gets answers pretty quickly but he doesn't have the badge, doesn't have the right supplies to pull it off convincingly, so he does what he can, asks around just because he's 'curious'. He misses his box of badges, even that damned uncomfortable monkey suit Sam usually forced him into. 

He winds up back at the little place he shares with Cas before nine AM and all he can think about is his brother. It's taking everything he's got not to run back over there and shake Sam until he wants to admit he was wrong-But he can't do that. He just-just can't. 

There's a photo album on the bed when Dean passes by the bedroom on the way to the toilet. It's open but seems to only be halfway full of pictures. 

He doesn't think anything of it at first. Steps into the room and peers down at it from a distance. There's Cas... and there's Dean. 

They're sitting on a boat. The sun is shining, Dean's skin is slightly burned and freckled. Cas is tanned all over, BRONZED- and who the hell knew the little guy was packin' THAT under his baggy shirts and silk ties? 

They're sitting on a padded bench seat on the back of a boat, Cas leaned back against Dean's chest, both wearing sunglasses. Dean is taking the photo at a downward angle and they're both showing their teeth. It's not a smile, it's one of those 'picture time' smiles that don't reach your eyes. Like that monstrosity with matching sweaters Dean woke up to the day before on his mom's coffee table. 

The photo on the opposite page was taken at night, is slightly out of focus but more genuine. They're at a table, string lights are hung over their heads, there are tiki torches burning behind them to keep away the bugs. Cas is in a red t-shirt and his swimming trunks, leaned against Dean's shoulder with a beer halfway to his mouth. Their cheeks are squished together and someone else has taken this photo because Dean's hands are occupied, one holding his own drink, the other around Cas's shoulders. 

Below this are a few more of similar composition taken during dinner. Dean laughing with food in his mouth, Cas just looking at him, beer pressed to his lip, about to take a drink but unable to because he's smiling. Actually smiling. It's small but his eyes are lit up, they look too dark to distinguish their color in this image, but it doesn't matter. 

He turns the page curiously and the photos continue. It looks like Mexico, or southern Texas, right on the Gulf, he can't tell which. There are a few pictures of Cas and a brunette. Their faces are shaped similar enough that Dean's pretty sure this is Castiel's older sister. She's sitting on the lap of a large man with a long blonde ponytail and enough muscles that Dean thinks the guy could conceivably eat him for breakfast. The rest of the people aren't present enough in the images for Dean to think they were anything other than fellow patrons at the restaurant caught up in the excitement. 

Then the photos change; A snowy parking lot, taken from a high window. The Impala parked with other cars, taken from above, her roof, hood and trunk dusted with snow. 

Castiel's face, up close from a low angle. He's wearing an 'I (Heart) NY' t-shirt and his cheeks are a little flushed from sleep, he's grinning.

The next photo is a blanket covered lump in the mussed hotel bed. 

Dean, apparently is the lump because now the blankets are pulled back and he's looking at his own sleeping face, palm mashed into his cheek, lips parted, lashes fanned on his cheeks. His hair is a mess and his skin is pink from sleep warmth. It's weird seeing himself asleep, he thinks he looks strangely vulnerable and he's not sure he likes it. If he'd found out someone was taking sleeping pictures of him before the djinn he would have had a problem with it. Below it is another photo of the same thing but now Dean's eyes are open and he's looking into the camera without really seeing it. 

The next page is taken up by another picture and a slot where it looks like a DVD has been but it's not there and Dean isn't going to look for it. Cas is in these photos, lying on the bed pressed in close... kissing him-and he's kissing back. There are no lines of tension on his face, Dean, in the photo-is relaxed, calm, still not quite awake. It seems luxurious, Normal, sharing drowsy kisses. He's not sure why, but part of him wishes he could remember it happening. 

The opposite page is another set, Dean's head is halfway under a pillow and the blankets are pulled back-There's a hickey on his chest and he's pretty sure if the blankets are pulled back any more he's going to be looking at a naked picture of himself but he's smiling in it. There's a big goofy stupid smile on his face and he feels himself returning it, weird tumbling sensations settling low in his chest. He moves on, to find another image of himself, this time he's standing in the hotel bathroom brushing his teeth. He's wearing jeans but no shirt and there is steam on part of the mirror. His hair is flat, longer than he's used to keeping it, just enough that it's sticking out around his ears and the crown of his head. Cas's reflection is there as well. He's in the NY t-shirt still and his underwear. His hair is standing up all over like he's shoved a finger in the light socket. Below it Dean's closer to the camera, staring down at the lens in a domineering fashion, dimples on his cheeks as he tries not to smile. Then one of Cas wearing ridiculous looking Elton John sunglasses, Dean's back is in the background, he's pulling on a t-shirt over his thermals.

They're on the street in the next picture. Dean's eating a hotdog and there's mustard on his chin, his cheek is pooched out from the food in his mouth and the color is mostly grayed out and cold looking but he looks happy. 

There are more pictures. Cas in Times Square pointing to the Virgin Records sign. Dean perusing CDs and records. Cas standing beside the Janis Joplin wax replica in a museum looking a little nervous... What was it? Dean knew this, there was supposedly a haunting there. Madam Tu-tu? Something like that.

There was an upward shot of the Empire State building and Dean's pale face. No, definitely not. The New York Public Library and Dean pulling open his jacket-He's wearing a fuckin' Ghost Buster's t-shirt and grinning like an idiot. 

Strawberry Fields, sneaker shod feet against 'Imagine' in blue letters lightly dusted with snow. Quite a few pictures of Cas crouching down and feeding pretzels to a squirrel the size of a football. Dean's face too close, his smile too wide, eyes too bright. It looks like they're running from something, Cas is visible just over his shoulder, teeth exposed in a wide almost panicked grimace. 

Dean wants to know what they did. Wants that memory more than anything because looking at his face he doesn't think he's ever seen himself more openly and perfectly ALIVE. He turns the page and there's Cas against hotel sheets, his cheeks, neck and chest are flushed and his lips are red and kiss bruised. There are beer bottles on the bedside table and in the floor and the corner of a pizza box. There is tension between his brows and his mouth is open, just a fraction, frozen eternally on inhale. He's shirtless and Dean can see his own fingers splayed on the pillow by Cas's head. He knows what the angle means, but he can't look away. Can't turn the page because he knows there aren't any more like this. There's just this one. Just himself and Cas caught in this intimate act and it's not weird. It's really not weird that his heart thumps hard in his chest and warmth slides down the length of his spine to pool low between his hips because that look on Cas's face is for him. JUST for him. 

'I love you, Dean...'

He swallows down the tight knot in his throat, snuffs back something incendiary in his sinuses and finally makes it to the bathroom. He does his business, washes his hands, brushes his teeth and stares at himself in the mirror for a while, tries to reconcile THIS with THAT. Hunting with Home life... Cas with everything he ever thought he knew about himself. 

He goes out again, sucks it up and sends his mother flowers simply because he's always wanted to. It's almost eleven by the time he figures out where Cas works. He had to do some digging in desk drawers but he found it. He brings him a cheese burger and fries with a coke because that was what he'd been drinking in the picture on the boat. 

Cas is in a cubicle, lost amid other cubicles. He has a plant, something with colorful leaves on top of his filing cabinet. There's a picture of himself and Dean pinned to the wall nearer to his desk. Respectable, dressed in nice shirts standing together at what looked like an office Christmas party with bored expressions on their faces. They both have beer in clear plastic cups and Dean has his arm loosely around Cas's waist. Below it is another, more candid shot. The same one from the boat with the fake smiles. They're pictures Cas can look at through the day and be proud of, but they aren't sexualized. There may be people in this office building that look down on two guys being together and complain. This way there's nothing at risk... And if some asshole decides to steal them they're not pictures Cas will miss too badly because he has better ones at home. 

Dean understands that. He does. He's even amused by it and some dark little part of himself wants to make a giant copy of the picture he'd left the album open to at the apartment and stick it RIGHT THERE where everyone can see it. 

Cas looks up surprised from his computer, pushes a pair of thick framed glasses up onto his forehead and leans back in his chair a little. "Hey."

"Hey," Dean leans his shoulder gingerly against the flimsy cubicle wall and bumps the burger bag against his thigh a few times before he realizes what he's supposed to do with it; "Oh-uh... Here, brought you lunch." 

"You drove all this way to bring me lunch? You never bring me lunch," Cas takes the bag and looks up at him with a rather awestruck expression on his face. 

Dean thinks he may be amiable to the whole giant sex picture as well, on the inside at least. 

"You-uh... You got a minute?"

Cas looks at his watch, back to his computer screen then to Dean. It's obvious he doesn't, but he saves his work and closes the program anyway; "Yeah, sure." 

It's not a far walk to the elevator, then the parking garage. They slide into the front seat of the Impala and Dean fetches his own bag of food without comment. A car or two passes but other than that it's quiet. Dean turns on the radio, low, barely a hum just because hearing people chew is weird and Cas grins around a mouthful; "I like this song."

Dean can't help but grin back. "'s a good song." 

They listen and eat. Cas asks for some salt for his fries. 

Dean catches some mayo trying to escape his mouth and redirects it with the pad of his thumb; "When did we go to New York again?"

Cas smiles, blushes; "Last year... Your birthday... Why?"

"Nothin'... Just think maybe we should go back."

Cas smiles; "That'd be nice... Maybe this time when it's not so cold?"

"Agreed," Dean balls up the wax paper his sandwich was wrapped in and drops it back into the bag. He wipes his hands clean on his jeans and looks at the clock; "What time do you get out?"

"Three, three thirty... Probably won't be home 'til later, I need to do a grocery run." 

"I'll do it." 

Cas stops mid chew and looks at him; "You'll do it?"

"Yeah, sure... Whatta we need?"

"You'll do it... You'll go grocery shopping and pick up the dry cleaning."

"Yes. Come on, how hard can it be." 

Cas snorted but after a deep breath fished in his hip pocket and pulled out a folded bit of notebook paper. "Keep your receipts. I need to figure out how much we can afford to put into savings this month," He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out the dry cleaning ticket, gave Dean a nervous look and stuck it in the glove box; "So you don't lose it." 

Dean nodded and unfolded the list scanning it over. "Where do you get half this stuff?"

Cas chuckled; "I can do it, you know. It's not a problem-"

"No-no, I-I got this."

"Since when do you want to do the shopping? You hate shopping." 

"I do not."

"Last time you went shopping you came back with one pizza, four cases of beer and sixty dollars of pornography..." 

Dean blinked, "Was it good porn at least?"

Cas's jaw twitched and he reached for the list; "I'll-"

"Cas, man, I got this." 

A sigh and he arched his hips off the seat, pulled out his wallet and handed Dean an ATM card, "Whatever... Just remember we're on a budget, alright?"

"How much?"

"What?" He swallowed his last few fries and washed them down with a single big gulp of his soda. 

"Budget. How much is it?"

Cas leaned back in his seat and rubbed his forehead pensively; "I don't know... Four hundred... Keep it under four hundred, please... That'll leave us some wiggle room."

"Four hundred."

Cas nodded warily.

"I can work with that," Dean could more than work with that. 

Cas rubbed his face; "I need to get back-thanks for the burger."

"You've still got thirty minutes-"

"I have a lot of work to do-"

"It'll still be there when you get back, come on," He caught Cas's sleeve and rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

"I wish I could, but I really have to get those accounts settled before the end of the day..."His voice trailed off and he just watched Dean's fingers on his sleeve, let them find his wrist and curl against his skin. 

Castiel leaned in slowly and Dean tilted his chin up, let their mouths hover close for half a second, brush and seal. It was quick, soft, maybe a little too dry so Dean leaned in and Cas's hand slid into the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulled him in and heat tingled behind his sternum, down his spine and lower. 

Castiel was a good kisser. A fantastic kisser, worked the focus from the seam of Dean's lips to the corner and then to a tiny stripe of scar tissue on his lower lip, nudged it and the next thing Dean knew he was making out in the front seat of his car with another guy. Felt the sting of teeth and a warm, rough friction where Castiel had slid closer and was pulling at his hip, urging Dean's right leg up onto the seat so they could face one another. 

Technically there wasn't much different than when Dean had kissed women. Physically it felt about the same, lips and teeth and tongues, sent the same kind of fire burning low in his belly, the same tightening of need at the base of his mind. While at the same time it was galaxies different. Where a woman would follow his lead most of the time, Cas insisted, guided-Directed the kiss like it was an orchestra or something. Castiel tasted different, under the cheese burger and coke and fries. He was harder, held the potential for something almost violent, but he held it back, was stronger but not rough. Threatened a bite but only scraped with his teeth as he caught Dean's lower lip and tugged on it, nudged with his nose and chin and latched onto the tender flesh behind and under Dean's ear, bit and sucked-

His throat closed on a noise, a whine or groan or something equally embarrassing and his hands clamped on Cas's suit jacket in an effort to hold everything in. Wow, okay. That was new, made his scalp tingle and his eyes roll back in his head. 

There was pressure below, a slow, kneading friction and Dean only belatedly realized there was a hand working at his belt, sliding in through the retracted zipper of his jeans. He tensed and Cas lifted his head away from his throat, blue eyes wide and intent and almost feral with want. "This OK?"

"You're the one whose gotta go back to work," I'm just the guy whose never had another guy touch him and yeah, I might be having a little bit of a freak out here... now. Maybe.

Cas's brows drew down; "Crack a window..." 

Dean fumbled behind him, gave the handle two full turns and felt himself shaking a little as Cas gripped him by the hips and physically pulled him down in the seat until he was lying there with Cas scrunched up half in the passenger foot well, Dean's left leg over his arm and the other stretched out against the back of the seat. He leaned forward and caught the little bit of extra flesh below Dean's navel between his teeth and bit just hard enough to sting-sucked hard enough to leave a purple mark that would rub against the waistband of his jeans, tender and irritated and Dean couldn't watch it, turned his eyes to the overhead lining and flattened one shaking palm on his brow, the other fisted in the lapel of Castiel's jacket.

Cas hummed low in the back of his throat and pulled the last layer of Dean's clothes aside, eased him out and the air felt cool, maybe a little painful but in a way that could be no better. 

His hands were dry, caught and pulled, little bursts of pleasurepain from the un-eased friction.  
Cas didn't even warn him, just shushed him gently and drew him in. 

Dean's whole body responded, rolled like the ocean upupup into the sensation, the fingers in Cas's coat suddenly in his hair, gripping, releasing, in spasm, resting there and feeling the flex of muscle as he moved. Dean's eyes squeezed closed and he saw stars, thought maybe he'd had an aneurism, little lightning flashes of popped blood vessels in his brain. His breath came out on a grunt and his right heel scraped against the upholstery, the other pulling Cas closer, wanting more. 

He looked, was too shocked and awed not to, saw Cas's pink lips stretched around him, how those blue eyes were shut, lashes just ebony crescents on his flushed cheeks. Not a care in the world. 

Women tried for eye contact, wanted to watch and know they were doing it right. Cas didn't need that reaffirmation, didn't need the subtle directory hints of flexed facial features to know what he was doing was exactly what Dean liked. He knew already. Didn't have to ask. There was no awkwardness, no coaxing. Dean didn't have to mumble praises, 'just like that, baby, that-that's perfect'. He didn't know if he would have been capable of it even if he'd wanted to, all his energy was focused on not thrusting up, not clawing into that thick dark hair, not bowing his head and moaning loud, lust thick obscenities. 

There was absolute tension in his lower back, he couldn't hold still, wanted to rock his hips and MOVE with it instinctually because this man was playing his body like a musical instrument and Dean hadn't known it was possible that someone would just KNOW what he liked without him having to guide them through it. He was just along for the ride here and it was magnificent. 

"Dean... you have to breathe or you're gonna pass out-" There was a hand in his hair, stroking over his brow and pushing the sweat away. "Don't hold your breath until you're almost there..."

He nodded, numbly, sucked in a few sharp breaths and watched with dilated eyes as Cas swallowed him down again, hollowed his cheeks and pressed up with the flat of his tongue, teeth scraping just enough to sting in all the best ways. 

Cas's hand stayed on his face for a few seconds, their eyes connected, not looking for direction, just observing. The hand on his head slid down, pushed up his shirt and rubbed across his chest. Pressed against a nipple with the pad of his thumb and scratched carefully with blunt nails. The other was working, forefinger and thumb holding him steady, three fingers cupping his balls, squeezing every so often through the fabric of his underwear... Sometimes his little finger would stretch out and add pressure behind, press up with its length and-and something, anything-

"Cas..." The sound came out broken, needy. It scared him that such a sound had come from his mouth. Scared him that he had no control over it, no words to describe what he wanted, no experiences to gauge it against to even tell himself what he wanted. "Please-"

Castiel's eyes seemed to burn, his fingers flexed, slid under the fabric, down- and pressed IN-

His brows furrowed and he reached down confused and reluctant of the intrusion- He wasn't sure what his hand was there to do, stop it? Help maybe? He pulled his hand back self-consciously to tangle in his own hair because it-God, that felt good. He clamped his eyes shut and gripped the steering wheel to ground himself. This felt different, muscles in his legs and abdomen were tightening, his spine curling into the stimulation. Everything felt like it was locking up, his heart beat hard in his chest, his balls drew up tight-Too fast, Cas, Cas it's happening too fast-Jesus, Cas toodamnfastOHGODtoomuch shitshit-"Oh, fuck-" His breath caught in his throat and he caged it in his chest, ground his teeth and hissed while Cas swallowed, hand on his hip keeping him down, pressing up inside him and rubbing-swallowingswallowing-Too much-

Cas pulled back quickly, half choked, groped for the napkins from their lunch and coughed into them a few times.

Dean let his breath out in a whoosh, lightheaded and weak in his limbs. Panting for breath and shivering from the intensity of it. His shirt had ridden up and his sweat sticky skin was stuck to the seat. His dick was wet and cold and ached, twitching with aftershocks against his stomach. 

"Dean?" His voice was low, rough, quiet-too loud in the silence. His blue eyes were wide, uneasy. 

Dean looked at him, crouched there, half in the floor, half sprawled over his legs and swallowed the dryness in his throat; "You-You've got... on your tie." 

Castiel looked down at it, "Crap," and dabbed at the mess with a napkin-laughed under his breath and pulled it off, chuckling as he put it on backward. "There... Not like anyone pays enough attention to me to notice anyway." 

Dean feels himself grin, stupid, lax. He takes some of the napkins when Cas offers them, cleans himself up and pulls his clothes to rights. Cas peeks up over the dash like a cat looking out of a garbage can and scans the area. There's nobody in sight and Dean's legs feel rubbery as he pushes himself up. He's tender and his jeans feel like sandpaper, but his heart is beating and that post-orgasm bliss is a very nice distraction. He glances over, notices the bulge in the front of Cas's slacks and feels nervous all over again. Perhaps it's a good thing Cas notices the time on his watch, mutters 'crap' under his breath again and pops open the door, rinses his mouth with what is left of his soda, finishes Dean's in a few gulps when it's offered and fishes a tube of antiperspirant from the glove compartment to swipe under his arms again. "They've got cologne in the men's room... maybe nobody'll notice." 

Dean's still staring at the front of his slacks, cheeks going pink again. 

Cas follows his gaze, chuckles, leans over the seat, captures his lips and whispers; "You can thank me later," As he climbs out of the car. 

Dean watches him, how he turns and walks backward long enough to wave, eyes alight, cheeks flushed. He waves back, lifts his fingers off the steering wheel and tries to figure out when that little bud of warmth in his chest became something else.

0-0-0

Dean parks at the end of the lot away from other cars, locks his doors and stares down the grocery store like he would a demon. There are people going in and out, pushing full carts, carrying bags, dragging screeching children. He snags a cart as he makes it inside, doesn't even care that it's got a wobbly wheel, and unfolds The List in the kid basket near his hands. He needs a strategy, get in, get out, get what he needs for cheap. In his head he sections the list off into different departments. Frozen, Dairy, Meats, Dry Goods, Toilet Paper, Bathroom things... C-condoms... lube. Jesus Christ, does that say Preperation H?

He hesitates, then fires off a text. "Does this say what I think it says?"

"You can get it at the gas station on your way home so no one sees you." 

He types out a 'Do we really need it?' But realizes the stupidity of that question considering he had one finger in there earlier and feels like he's limping, he erases it. 

Cas sends back a few minutes later; "Pick up some pears and grapes. I forgot to put those on the list." 

He has his cart almost full when it starts. Reaching for a jar of pickles on the shelf something drips onto his hand. He thinks its pickle juice at first, draws his hand back and looks at it, runs his fingers across the shelf and a drip lands on his cheek, splashes toward his eye and he flinches back, wipes it away. He looks up now, expecting some kind of leak in the roof but there's nothing to see. He shakes his head and as a woman with a three-year-old in her cart walks past he warns her about the leak. She says thank you and Dean heads toward the produce section. The drip catches him again as he's heading to the checkouts, pleasantly amused with himself and the fact Castiel is going to be pleased with exactly how far below budget he's stayed. 

A light flickers on to his left and Dean flinches when the water hits his face. 

The girl is standing by the exit, her skin's mottled gray and purple in places, her blouse and skirt are torn and dirty and splattered. Her eyes are wide and staring into-THROUGH-him and his heart thuds hard in his chest. He tastes something rotten in the back of his throat, cloying and thick, physically gags and goes to his knees. 

It's hard to breathe and he can't feel his hands anymore. They're numb and it hurts so much. 

Everything looks dark, dim and... and-

"Easy, son, just breathe... Take it easy," The store manager is crouched beside him, somehow Dean's wound up sitting in a wheelchair, some woman with faded red curly hair and glasses behind him and a thick masculine hand is pressing his head down between his knees.

"Just breathe..." The man says softly; "You want us to call an ambulance?"

"No... no-" He chokes again, can't suck in enough air and someone pushes a paper cup of water into his hands. He's shaking and takes a drink, breathes in through his nose, coughs and nods at the concern in the manager's voice. "m'Okay... Choked... gum."

"Didja get it out?"

"Think I swallowed it." 

The manager smiles and shakes his head; "It looked like you were having an asthma attack... Want us to call anyone?"

He shook his head; "I'm OK... Just knocked the wind outta me." 

He feels uneasy, disconnected and everyone is staring at him. He feels like a circus act or something, like maybe they're going to start throwing peanuts at him and demand he do tricks. He forces himself up, gently brushes the manager's steadying hands off and makes purposeful eye contact with the associates that have appeared and the people watching him, his gaze hard, damning. 

They open up a register just for him, ask again if he doesn't want them to call someone and finally drop it when he says he'll be fine, really. Then he feels like an idiot when the cashier girl helps him put his groceries in the car and inadvertently sees the titty magazines he has in the trunk.

The dry cleaning is simple. In and out, he pays in cash. All it winds up being is a few of Cas's suits, pressed and clean and smelling like chemicals and 'flowers'. Dean puts them in the back seat and gets lost on the way back to their place, manages to find it because the address is on his driver's license and pretends he did it intentionally. 

He knows something isn't right. Knows that girl is haunting him for a reason. She's picked him and he has to help her. Dean goes over what he knows and can guess at as he's putting the groceries away, sends a text to Cas that said he'd got everything on the list for under three-hundred, takes a picture of the receipts as proof and sends that as well. 

He finds an unused notebook in one of the kitchen drawers and sits down at the table to list out everything he's experienced in connection to The Girl. 

She's young, late teens-early twenties. Dark hair, dark eyes, white shirt, skirt and shoes. Most likely a sorority pledge. He saw her first in front of the student center, on the sidewalk. It's likely that's where she disappeared from. 

The second time he saw her was at the restaurant, which if she's connected herself to him doesn't mean anything, but if she hasn't, something about the restaurant matters. He'll consider both. 

The third time was at the store. She looked mid decay... Again, if she's attached to him location doesn't matter. He's experienced the same things all three times. His hands and wrists have felt bound too tightly, he's reacted to lights turning on in the upper left corner of his vision, dripping water, dark musty places and a funny taste in his mouth. 

The funny taste could mean she was poisoned. Probably a date rape drug at a party, she wandered off, ran away from the kidnapper, but didn't make it. 

That narrows it down a lot. He'll have to go back to the college and talk to the sorority houses, maybe Sam-

Shit. 

How is he going to do this without Sam to watch his back? 

Cas maybe?

His stomach rolled. 

Cas would think he was insane. Any Normal person would. 

If only Sam would... 

It's going to take time to fix things with Sam. He's not sure how much time, but more than he has at the moment. He's gonna have to do this himself. Sure. Yeah! It'll be easy. She doesn't look like she's angry, she's just... she just wants to be found. It's not common, but it's happened before. She wants her killer to be stopped. 

Without his resources, without all his fake IDs and badges and Sam's brains it's going to be difficult, but not impossible. 

He saw the girl after talking to the theology professor, so he'll ask him, see if he remembers a girl like that. Maybe He's the one? 

Dean moves from the kitchen to the living room when his ass goes numb in the kitchen chair and his thoughts dry up. Sits in front of the TV and draws pictures of light bulbs and vague angular shapes, phlebotomy bags, tubing, rope biting into wrists, blank staring eyes. All things the girl has shown him, things that won't leave his mind, that chew and bite and rip at his consciousness like an angry chupacabra. Maybe if he calls Bobby?

Will Bobby even know who he is? Will he even answer? 

The door opens and Dean turns his head, feels himself smiling when Cas comes in blinking at him with a crooked suggestive grin on his face. His tie is still backward. "I hope your afternoon was satisfactory."

Dean grins at him; "Whatsamatter, Cas? Got the blue balls?"

Cas puts his briefcase on the kitchen counter and tries to scowl. He toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket, shuffles over with one hand behind his back and bends over Dean's shoulder, buries his nose in that Place below his ear and breathes deep, brushes it with the corner of his mouth and roughness of his chin. 

Gooseflesh rises on Dean's arms and legs and he shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch, closing the notebook and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

Castiel's arm comes from around his back holding a six-pack and Dean's eyes lightup. "My favorite." 

"I know."

Dean takes one and watches with interest as Cas rolls over the back rest and onto the sofa, head and shoulders propped up against the far arm, legs thrown over Dean's lap.

It's an easy quiet. Just the TV and beer and a warm body next to him. 

Cas removes his tie and stares at the stain on it, laughs and throws it at Dean's head. 

Dean almost chokes again, looks at him with an eyebrow up and swallows his mouthful; "What?" 

Cas shakes his head, hums and takes a beer for himself, flicks the cap with a snap of his fingers and watches as it tumbles through the air to land in a pickle jar on the coffee table half filled with an assortment of other caps and can tabs. 

"Smartass," Dean tries and the cap flies backward over his head and clatters across the floor. 

Cas's face lights up and there... that's it. THAT is a smile. Just a hint of teeth. It's the same expression from the beach picture. Not the fake one he had pinned to the wall of his cubicle, the real one. 

"How'd you do that?" He motions to the pickle jar. 

"You taught me." 

Dean swallowed, felt tension build in his shoulders and chest. 

"You're different."

"Cas-"

"You didn't pull my hair. You didn't..." His expression closes off and he looks down at his hands, flexes them against his beer and speaks carefully, "This nightmare you had. It wasn't just a nightmare, was it." 

Dean's throat clicks when he swallows. Feels dry like the desert and he doesn't have any words. 

"I don't care what caused it... I've been scared to death the last two days, but I'm... I'm glad whatever it was that happened... happened." 

Dean's jaw twitches and he looks down where Castiel's feet are in his lap. "I... it feels like I've got a second chance or something."

"Like Ebenezer Scrooge?"

Dean's lips tilt up and he meets Cas's eyes again, noting the nervous hopefulness in his expression; "Somethin' like that." 

"Am I going to wake up tomorrow and you'll be back to how you were?"

"How was I?"

Cas looks at him, swallows, takes a drink and breathes out; "Cocky... Distant. You-You've never brought me lunch before... You get drunk, or we get drunk... It-" He took a steadying breath, "-Sometimes you... it felt like you didn't even see me, that I didn't matter. That I was just here taking up space and picking up your laundry... Sometimes it was like we were from two different worlds. Like I didn't even know you and you didn't care enough to know me." He swallowed and there was something dark and troubled in his eyes. "Sometimes you'd look at women and I'd wonder... What's stopping you from having that... Why are you HERE instead of chasing her?"

"Cas, I-"

"I knew something was different. I was afraid you'd finally had enough of me-" His breath hitched and his lower lip quivered, "I didn't believe it at first but... You- You were genuinely hurt last night when we left your mothers. You-I have never seen you like that before... And today in the car-You have never looked at me like that before-It... You've never looked at me like that before, Dean, like you were... were falling in love with me."

Dean felt heat rise to his face and he took another drink just for the excuse not to say anything. 

Cas's hands plucked the bottle away and turned his face so their eyes met. Blue... Soft, warm- Finger tips reverently touching his cheek.

His eyes were like starlight and worn denim. Familiar, constant, comfortable. They'd been there his whole life and it was like just having those words opened the floodgates in his chest. He leaned into it fully, caught Cas by surprise and just kissed him. Felt air rip into and out of his lungs through flared nostrils and fingers bit into his scalp, angling his head for better access, scraping over the place below his ear and latching on, bitesucklick until he could feel it pulsing along with his heartbeat as Cas's mouth moved on, hands pushing at his shirts, yanking open snaps and demanding, taking. 

His t-shirt was rucked up around his neck and a few buttons from Cas's shirt went flying across the room-One landed in the pickle jar and Dean laughed, the sound caught between their lips. "Why you gotta wear such baggy clothes, huh?" He swept his hands up Cas's ribs and rubbed both nipples with his thumbs, entranced by the bow of his spine and how the knob of his throat bobbed as his head fell back. He wasn't sure when Cas had made it to his lap, or when they'd forgotten about the beer but it didn't matter. There was so much skin. Pale and every so often there was a little freckle, a tiny ridge of scar tissue, a surgical scar low on his right side and a few dimples below his sternum and along his side. Dean traced them with his fingertips, asked with the curl of his eyebrows and a low growl.

"Appendix," Cas muttered it, catching Dean's lower lip with his teeth and tugging, brought his hand up to the little spots on his ribcage. "Broken ribs, I was flail chested... they had to wire them back." 

Dean shuddered, surged up and tried to stand but Cas was heavier than a woman and down they went onto the couch again, foreheads knocking together. 

Cas was up an instant later, pulled Dean's arm and they slammed into one another again, all teeth and roving hands and mouths just inhaling the warmth of skin. 

Dean stubbed his toe on the side table. Cas backed them into a wall. A black and white image Dean hadn't really taken the chance to look at fell to the floor with a snap of breaking glass. His jeans made it halfway down his thighs and Cas dragged him stumbling forward by his ears, growled 'fuck' and yanked them down for him, one shoulder into his stomach, arm in the bend of his knees and UP he went, bouncing across the bed. He laughed under his breath and caught sight of Cas yanking his belt through the loops, two flicks of his wrist it was folded and on the chair in the corner. His slacks went down without even having to be unfastened. He just sucked in his stomach and they fell. 

"Cas, man, you need clothes that fit-" And they were a tangle of limbs on the sheets, just rocking and feeling the flex of muscle under skin, the prickle of sweat in the dips of spines and curve of brows. 

Dean arched his hips up and pulled the photo album out from under himself, pushed it onto his bedside table and didn't even react when the alarm clock fell to the floor taking the lamp with it, plunging the room into semi-darkness with the crackle of a broken bulb. The only light left was coming from the hallway, slanting across Cas's features and making his eyes shine.

It became very real in that second, solid and unforgiving, tension in Dean's chest and anxiety closing off his lungs. Was he doing this? Was he really going to do this? 

It wasn't like the pictures, images of events conjured into being but never experienced. This was real, very real... 

"Cas..."

Lips closed around one of his nipples and sucked hard, he pushed up into it, head dropping back; "Oh-That's nice..." He ground his teeth, tried to capture the white rabbit of his thoughts before it scurried off and sucked in a harsh breath; "Cas-Cas!"

He withdrew with a gasp, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed. "Dean..." His fingers touched, feather light, the center of his brow, over his eyelids, followed them with his lips; "Dean... Dean." 

Their breath mingled, shifted until they were simply panting quietly into one another's skin, drifting back and forth lost in the sensation. He didn't say it, his voice had nothing to do with it, he breathed the words into pale skin and dark curls, even though they scared him, but when had he ever not faced his fears.

Cas breathed them back, met his eyes and let Dean take them in. 

He touched, put his fingers into the notches of Castiel's spine, allowed star maps to be traced into his skin. Shifted and shivered because nakedness had never felt this vulnerable, watched the play of shadow on pale skin, fingers wrapping around him, slick and sweet and just a little rough with a pulltwist, his hips followed the motion, tensed and rocked and he couldn't look away. 

Fumbling in Cas's bedside drawer and Dean glances that way, sees a tube and a foil packet-Focuses on the ceiling, swallows the excited-scared-jackrabbit of his heart.

"Relax... realx," Just a little slip and moving pressure. Didn't hurt, not so bad... brushing up and in; "You're beautiful, Dean..." lips on his, scratch and burn of stubble, the insistent push of a second finger, quickly followed by a third and he's being opened up, knows what's coming and isn't scared. 

It burns, pressure- "Cas?"

"I'm here-"

"'kinda-" He swallows, can't quite remember how and has to try again, eyes locked on the ceiling, watering, heart a skittering beat behind his ribs; "...Just a little." 

It's new, different, feels weird, but not bad. Cas eases back, waits, breathes. Kisses the beads of sweat from Dean's brow and breathes those words again, like a spell or a prayer or some ancient magic Dean's never known before. 

He's just along for the ride here, tries to relax but isn't used to not being the driver. 

It comes as a shock when Cas just-just slips in, it burns, maybe even still hurts a little, but it's not bad. It's really not that bad. They lay together for a few minutes breathing, whispering trying to be quiet like maybe someone will hear them and take the good of this away. Cas keeps one hand on his hip and both legs folded under him supporting Dean's lower back, lets him ease his legs up until there's no strain and it feels effortless again, knees on Cas's shoulders, feet dangling into space somewhere behind his head. It keeps blood flowing to Dean's brain so it feels less like he's about to pass out from sheer mental overload. 

Cas turns his head and mouths at the inside of his knee and Dean jerks from ticklishness, rocks where he's pinnedimpaled and his voice tries to make noises but he chomps down on them. 

Cas peers at him, curiously, rolls his hips and lets out a sigh; "It's okay."

He doesn't think it is... It's one thing to be OK with what's happening, but he doesn't have to moan and thrash about it. He's not a woman, it's not ne-

"Ah-" 

It comes out without his permission on the end of a jolt, a quick sharp little stab forward with his hips and Cas is grinning at him. It's like a game to him kind of. 

"Relax... Let-let me hear you." 

He can't... Really, he can't. His mouth opens and wan little gulps of sound come out but anything louder chokes him. Instead he reaches up, forms his hand to the back of Cas's head and draws him down. Folds himself up so they can kiss. Please... please, don't make me. I can't-

Cas doesn't use force and oversensitivity to try and get noises out of him after that, bows his head and sinks back into the rhythm of it, spreads his knees so he can move and hugs Dean's thighs to his chest with one arm, wraps the other hand around his dick, still slick with a little extra lube. The pull and twist is easy, second nature, all part of the ride. 

There aren't many words, fewer conscious thoughts, Dean sees home in his eyes and grips tighter with all his limbs in an effort to keep it where it belongs. 

Cas shifts around, eases Dean's legs off his shoulders, into the cradle of his arms and Dean can't help but reach down and touch. All he really does is hold himself, rub a thumb back and forth across his head and watch Cas's face, feel him shift and roll-the beat of his heart and gasp of his breath. He lets his legs relax, lets himself be moved, finds his eyes rolling and those soft barely audible noises that come out with each inhale or exhale growing in volume and frequency.

"Cas... Cas-J-just-" His tongue swiped over his lips, tasted salt and he reaches up, pulls him down again until their just breathing one another's air and Cas's expression is strained.

Their eyes meet and Dean's fist gives a quick pulling TWIST and there it is. 

The air rips into his lungs and out again but he can't make a sound, tenses and shudders, says 'fuckfuckfuck' with his lips but not his voice, all that really comes out is incoherent, stuttering, something almost pained and he curls inward while Cas pumps through it-groans softly in relief and gathers Dean close in those last few seconds before he finishes. 

"Dean- Dean..."

He doesn't black out completely, drifts and sways and feels disconnected, but he hears everything, feels everything, slits his eyes open when Cas brushes his knuckles against his temple and tells him to push out, easy-that's it...

It's uncomfortable, feels a little disgusting and stings-holyshitFUCK that stings. His face contorts and Cas shushes him again, helps him to his feet and they stumble naked and numb to the bathroom. 

Dean sees the condom in the garbage can as he passes and stares at it stupidly until he's pushed into the shower and there's a naked man pressed up against his chest, arms wrapped around him and whaddaya know, his arms are full of naked man too. He grins and blinks away the water that runs over his face as Cas turns them into the spray. 

He's sleepy and heavy limbed and his knees don't seem to wanna quit shaking. "You fucked me stupid, Cas... I-I can't stand up." 

Cas laughs quietly into his ear and nuzzles into his throat, leaves a trail of warm, watery kisses and breathes in. "I got you... I got you." 

0-0-0

He wakes up sometime around eight thirty to Cas just petting a hand up and down his back. He can feel the electric charge of his stare but doesn't want to move, doesn't want to open his eyes; "Take a picture... las'longer."

Cas smiles, it sounds radiant; "Don't tempt me." 

He cracks open one eye and just looks. The lamp's back on the bedside table, new bulb on its lowest setting. Everything is amber and gold and the blue of Castiel's eyes, he rolls slowly onto his back, winces because holy SHIT my ass-and looks at him tiredly. "I don't mind..." 

He wants it in all honesty. Wants to add a picture to that album that is actually HIM, one he can look at and remember the taste of sweat and the burn of stretched muscles. "I took a sexy naked picture of you... 'sonly fair." 

Cas's grin is devious and he leans forward quick to steal a kiss before he's at the bookshelf and slotting batteries into his camera. "No penis, no penetration shots, right?"

Dean wouldn't mind it if Cas wanted a photo of his dick, he'd be flattered, but they can work up to that. He hums in agreement and crosses his arms behind his head. 

Cas steps onto the bed and drops to sit with crossed legs while the camera loads, aims and snaps a picture without the flash. The little guy seems giddy, like maybe he's wanted to do this for a while but was never given permission. Dean snorts back a laugh and lets himself be moved, posed like a doll or some shit, winds up laughing with Cas sitting on his hips rubbing his naked ass back on Dean's erection and making stupid faces at one another. 

It's nothing urgent, they can have sex if they want, or not. Cas rolls off and leans against Dean's side, holds up the camera and they look at the insanity they've just recorded, make comments and snap a few more. 

They're good pictures, Dean nuzzles his cheek and reaches for the album, finds it and they spend a while just looking, quiet, warm, slotting the new pictures into it as they come out of Cas's printer. There aren't many more in there that Dean hadn't already seen. Cas says they don't really DO much together aside from the trip to New York or to Mexico and that had only been because his sister had paid for them to come along. 

"We'll change that... We'll go places. It feels weird to me to stay in one place... My-My mom's happy, Sammy's happy. I figure I can fix things with him, I-I just need some time. You wanna go places, we'll go." 

Cas takes another picture of him, drowsy and grinning, sets the camera aside and lays there with the light on looking at him. 

Dean wakes again around eleven, Cas is out cold and Dean has to piss. There is a limp, a definite limp, but he does his business, stretches some of the soreness out of his back, may or may not pop the seal on the Preperation H and shuffles into the living room again in nothing but his underwear and some sweats. 

His beer is still on the coffee table, its warm but it is his favorite so he drinks it anyway, sets the remaining four bottles in the fridge and eases down onto the couch, hips angled to the side because Damn. 

There's another monster movie on, A giant brain with eyes is flailing around in a 'lab'. Some infomercial, Thundercats, stock exchange-

"And today marks the anniversary of the crash of United Britannia flight Four-two-four... Indianapolis Residents held candlelight vigils in memory of those who lost their lives..."

Dean feels his stomach do a sick burning twist and he shakes his head. "No... no no, we stopped that crash. What-"

He pushes himself up and tiptoes carefully back into the bedroom, picks up Cas's laptop off the desk and hobbles out again. It's his personal laptop so the chances of Dean breaking the password are... oh. The welcome screen has his name on it too. Okay... The password turns out to be the Impala's VIN number, he gets it on the second try, first choice his favorite brand of beer. The Internet Browser is easy to find. 

His hands shake but he searches every one. Every name, every town, every miniscule tiny forgotten thing and what he sees sickens him. 

All of them, every face that had looked up at him in gratitude, every child or daughter or son or mother and father he'd saved was dead. 

Nothing he remembered, nothing he'd f ought- bled and almost died for even existed here. Nothing he'd ever done that had mattered one fucking bit was here. 

He thinks the motion is Cas at first and he looks up, apology on his lips and instead meets dull dilated eyes and matted hair. Her blouse is torn, shredded in places, practically brown with filth, there's blood on her skirt and the soles of her feet. 

Dean pushes himself up and stands there staring at her, teeth ground tight. She turns and walks away, down the hall toward the bedroom-toward Cas. 

He moves, thinks maybe he was wrong, maybe she is vengeful. The apartment isn't warded! There are no devil's traps, no salt lines and she's about to hurt-

Cas is asleep, snoring softly, pouting and bundled in the quilt. 

The girl is nowhere to be seen. 

Dean stands there panting, heart in his throat, swallows that infection sweet sludge that coats the back of his throat and flexes his shaking hands open and closed. There's a whimper, soft, pleading-

The closet door seems to move, bow outward as if it's made of something flexible not wood. Like something off a movie and Dean moves forward slowly. He's unarmed, Cas is asleep in the bed behind him and that girl-that ghost is RIGHT THERE.

His hand hovers over the knob and he inhales-holds it-yanks the door back and the air punches out of his lungs like he's been shot. 

There are bodies-skeletons-rotted and writhing with maggots strung up by wet oozing wrists, jaws wide in silent eternal screams, frozen and bloodless. Tongues black and swollen, ruptured and suppurating, eyes sunken black prunes-

Water drips into his face and he looks up, transfixed by the light-suffocating frozen, trapped. Unable to move or scream or do anything but shift his eyes. 

He sees her in the mirror between him and Cas, wasted and bruised eyes unblinking and locked on him, drooling and mindless-helpless. She shudders-flickers-motionless and cold.

Sam-Where was Sam-Samsamsamsam 

His own voice gurgles in his throat, wet-drowning, and then she's gone and Dean is standing there staring at Cas's suits hanging beside his t-shirts. His breath shakes as he pulls it in, catches in his throat but he forces it anyway. Exhales and feels close to tears.

Cas is still sleeping, breath easing in and out, just a little bit of a wheeze. Peaceful, oblivious.

Dean's heart squeezes and he turns away, presses his forehead into the wall and digs his nails into his scalp, shakes with barely withheld fury.

Don't... no. This won't solve anything, won't even make you feel any better. Keep it for now. You'll need it. 

His breath whooshes out and he forces it down, draws in calm from he doesn't know where and breathes it down. He lines every door and window with table salt (It's all there was). Scratches warding sigils on the door and window frames, flips over the area rug and draws a devil's trap on it with a permanent marker he found in the kitchen drawer, slides it to rest right against the front door, tiptoes back into the bedroom and dresses quietly. He's done this before, crept out without waking his bed partner. Has done it to Cas before and it's not fair, but it's what has to be done right now. He needs to get out. He needs answers. 

He's halfway to his mother's house when he remembers that Sam doesn't know what Hunting is. Sam doesn't want him around, doesn't get along with him and he'll need time to fix that before he can trust his brother with this. He drives, winds up in the cemetery, walks along until he finds where he had once remembered his mother's grave being... Now there's his dad's name on the stone. 

Jesus... It's raining again but he doesn't feel it, just stares, stares and can't stop thinking that he's managed to fuck this up somehow. He's had his dreams handed to him and they've ruined all the good he's ever done. 

"All of them... Everyone you saved, every one Sammy and I saved... They're all dead," He takes a slow breath and looks around, feels exposed and weaponless. "And there's this woman. She's haunting me. I don't know why. I don't know what the connection is, not yet anyway... It's like my old life is coming after me... Like it doesn't want me to be happy..." He scoffs, looks around and for some reason can't look at his father's grave, feels like he's being judged; "'course, I know what you'd say... Well, not the you that played softball, but... 'Go hunt the djinn... It put you here it can put you back...'" His throat closes and he snuffs back the dampness of the air that's collected in his sinuses; " 'Your happiness for all those people's lives. It's no contest!' Right?" He can see the shake of his father's head, the curl of his lip in disappointment that Dean would even consider the alternative. Dean feels that heat in his chest again, thinks of Cas and Mom and Jess and Sam and it's not so clear cut. "But why? Why is it my job to save these people?" His voice cracks at the last and he can barely get the words out, feels suddenly like he's standing in his father's face spitting in everything he's ever believed in. He doesn't understand, just wants to know even though part of him already does; "Why do I have to be some kind of hero?" His chest spasms and he takes another breath, tries to push on without breaking, tries to get it out without snapping because he doesn't want his father, even if he is dead, to see him cry. "What about us, huh? What? Mom's not supposed to live her life? Sammy's not supposed to get married?" He sees pictures in his head, feels the warmth of Cas's head on his shoulder, the burn and sweet ache in his chest as they'd just LOOKED at one another and been SEEN. "Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad? It's-" Not fair... 

It's not fair that those people had to die. It's not fair that these THINGS took away everything that was important to us and there's nothing we can do to bring it back... 

All we can do is make sure it doesn't happen to someone else. 

There is a drip on his hand and Dean looks at it, startled, expects to look up and see that girl standing there staring at him, but then he tastes salt and the burn in the back of his throat chokes out his breath, chokes out the panic and anger and warmth in his chest and leaves the cold. Leaves him standing in a grave yard in the rain staring at his father's headstone and a little plastic flag that waves at him mockingly. 

It's funny really, but he can't find the strength to laugh, wipes a hand over his face and lets the salt dry on his palm. 

Okay... Okay. 

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	4. Cosmic Joke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter in part one. Should I do a series thing with it or put it all here?

0-0-0

It's not hard to talk the butcher into it. Guy's unloading a truck of fresh meat for the coming morning with his son. Dean says it's some exotic European blood sausage thing. The Butcher doesn't ask any questions, takes the twenty Dean slips him and continues with his truck.

It's even easier to get in through the dining room window. He slipped the blade of his pocketknife in and flips the latch, pushes up the sash and slides in. He doesn't turn on a light, which probably is why he walks balls first into the corner of the table. Fucking figures. 

His muscles protest crouching, he can still feel the slide of skin on skin, Cas's breath in his ear; 'I'm here'. He pushes it down and starts looking through the drawers and cabinets. 

If it were the old Sam he probably wouldn't have heard him coming, as it was this one is a mouth breather with size twelve feet. The baseball bat is a nice touch though. Funny. 

"That was so easy, I'm embarrassed for you!"

Sam's head thumps back onto the floor in relief; "Dean? What the hell are you doing here?" 

"Well," He knocks imaginary dust of Sam's chest, "I was lookin' for a beer." 

"In the China Cabinet?" Sam sounds disgusted, turns and finds the light switch. 

Dean tries to push the box out of sight with the heel of his shoe but Sam's already spotted it.

"That's mom's silver." 

"Sam-"

"What're you-You broke into the house... to steal mom's silver?"

Dean takes a step back, knows that look in Sam's eye and expects a punch. 

"It's not what it looks like, I didn't have a choice."

"Oh, really? Why? What's so damned important that you have to steal from your own mother?"

Yeah... Scum of the earth, that's me, isn't it.

"You want the truth?" He'd be smiling if it didn't feel like such shit.

"Yeah," Sam looks like his opinion of Dean couldn't fall any farther, "Yeah, I do," It's already so low he only wants to know for the principle of the thing, only so he'll have more of a reason to stay as far away from Dean as possible... So, Dean gives it to him.

"I owe somebody money."

Sam rolls his eyes, unsurprised; "Who?"

"A bookie. I lost big on a game, I gotta bring him the cash tonight." 

Sam's eyebrows go up like he's growing a migraine and singing it lullabies so it matures just right. "I can't believe we're even related." 

Dean swallows it, it tastes like bile; "Sam, I'm sorry."

Sam nods, those gears in his head are already turning, trying to figure out a way to break it to their mother. "Yeah," the 'you're always sorry but you'll do it again and I should really stop being surprised' goes unsaid. 

"I'm sorry that we don't get along-"

It's small, but Sam's brows crease and he looks at his brother from the edge of his vision.

"-and I wish to hell I could stay and fix it... But I gotta do this, people's lives depend on it." 

He bends, winces at the pull in his back and takes one knife. When he's upright again Sam's whole expression has changed. There is genuine concern-guilt in his eyes and he's standing a lot closer than he was before.

"What are you talkin' about, Dean?"

"Nothin', forget it... Just-uh-" He puts on a smile, "Tell Mom I love her."

Sam has a wrinkle between his brows and his pulse jumps erratically in his neck but he doesn't say anything until Dean's already half out the door.

"Dean?"

He looks up, smiles, "I'll see ya', Sammy," Takes one last look at his brother, the house, swallows a knot in his throat and leaves.

He's bent over a notebook furiously scribbling when Sam opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. He pulls it away from view, like a teenager hiding love letters and blinks at his brother with wide eyes. "Get outta the car." 

Sam's jaw is tense and the collar of his jacket is purposefully stood up like he's The Fonz or something. "I'm goin' with you."

"You're just gonna slow me down-"

"Tough!"

"This is dangerous and you could get hurt-"

"Yeah, and so could you, Dean!"

He shakes his head, unbelievable. This is just unbelievable; "Sam-"

"Whatever stupid thing you're about to do, you're not doing it alone and that's that," There's an imperious harshness to his voice Dean's never heard before. He doesn't like it directed at him, but wishes Sam talked like that more often. Confident and in control... Chicks digged that.

He let out a breath and narrowed his eyes; "I don't understand, why are you doin' this?"

Sam says it like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and looks back at him like he expects to be taunted. "Because you're still my brother."

Dean nods, snorts; "Bitch," and watches the expression on Sam's face go from confident to kicked puppy in zero point two seconds. 

"What're you callin' me a bitch for?"

He swallows and makes a gesture between them with his pen; "You're supposed to say 'Jerk'."

"What?"

"Nevermind," He flops the notebook into the back seat and starts the engine.

It's quiet for almost half an hour, Sam yawns a few times, checks his phone, switches position and stretches his legs one after the other into the corners of the foot well. He eyes the crumpled, crusty napkins in distaste and Dean grins to himself but doesn't say anything. 

"What's in the bag?"

"Nothin."

Sam's preverbal feelers go out, Dean knows it. 

"Nothin?"

"Yeah, nothin'."

Sam's eyebrows go up ohsoinnocently and he grabs the bag. "Fine."

Dean lets him look, cocks up an eyebrow and waits for it. He has a suspicion Sam expects it to be drugs, or alcohol from the expression on his face and he turns back to the road with a sigh; "You don't wanna do that." 

"Oh, really?" He holds up the jar, probably thinks its moonshine or bathtub gin and his expression, when the streetlights hit the contents bounces from smug to nauseated so fast it's like a whip crack. "W-what the hell is this?"

"Blood."

The panic rises in Sam's voice, pushes it up half an octave; "Yeah, I can see that its blood, Dean, what the hell is it doing in here!"

Dean looks at him, sees the shock and fear written plainly on his brother's face and turns back to the road; "You don't really want to know." 

"No... No I-I-I do. I really do wanna know. I really, really do."

"Yeah, well you're gonna find out sooner or later..." He breathes out and shifts his hips against the car seat; "I needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood." 

"Well, you needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, why?"

"Cause there's this creature, a djinn and I have to hunt it." 

Sam's mouth is open and he looks like he may have just pissed himself a little bit; "Okay, uhm..." He sets the jar of blood down carefully; "Stop the car."

"I know how it sounds."

"Great, just-stop the car."

"It's true, Sam. There are things out there in the dark, there are bad things-there are nightmare things... And people have to be saved and if we don't save them then nobody will."

"Look, I wanna help you. I-I really, really do, but you're having some kind of," he reaches for his phone, "psychotic breakdown-"

"-I wish-"

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and starts dialing.

Dean calmly rolls down the window, like maybe it's too stuffy, snatches Sam's phone away and tosses it.

Sam gapes at him, "What the hell was that, Dean, that was my phone!"

"I'm not goin' to a rubber room, Sammy and we got work to do." 

"What, I was just tryin' to help you out, Dean! I don't want you to get yourself hurt!"

Dean snorted; "What? You protect me?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh-ho, that's hilarious!" He eyes the road, checks his rearview, "Why don't you just sit tight and try not to get us both killed?" He hates to scare the kid-no, who is he kidding, he loves it, but this is different. It's different than waking Sam up by putting things in his mouth or mentioning something about women's periods or something like that. Sam looks genuinely afraid and as much as that bothers Dean he knows it's necessary. 

He turns on the radio and pushes the gas down a little farther. 

0-0-0

Sam snores, dropped off like a baby in a carriage and Dean shines a flashlight into the slit of one eye to wake him. 

It's the same warehouse. It's even raining a little. Nothing looks touched. Nothing looks to have moved, he half expects to see that mangy cat dart across in front of him again. 

"Where are we?"

"Well, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore."

Sam blinks around rubbing crust from his eyes and scratches a crick in his neck. He doesn't like Dean's joke.

"Illinois." 

"So, you think somebody's in there?"

"I know it is..." 

Sam looks doubtful, leans forward to peer out the windshield with his nose wrinkled. Dean climbs out of the car and clicks on his flashlight, when Sam doesn't follow him immediately he taps the window and gives him a glare; "Waitin' on you princess."

Sam grumbles under his breath as he climbs out, bunches his shoulders up like he thinks this whole place is disgusting and they head toward the door.

Its colder inside than Dean remembers it. There is no mouse this time and if he squints it's like he can see his footprints from the last time he was here. 

Sam's a few feet behind him, hands in his pockets, every so often he toes over a fallen box or nudges some soggy papers aside. He's unimpressed by this whole experience. "See, there's nothing here, Dean." 

He doesn't reply, just makes his way out of the office and into the corridor where he first encountered the djinn.

"Look, Cas has got to be worried sick about you, Dean. Come on, man, let's just go?"

Dean grinds his teeth, swallows with some difficulty and tries to keep his gait even. Tries to ignore everything his brother's just said but those pictures are back. That warmth in his chest he forced down is trying to swim back to the surface. 

It's quiet. He's not sure what it is but it sounds big and Dean puts a hand on Sam's chest, shushes him and shines his light ahead of them. 

In the quiet he can make it out... and he feels Sam go rigid behind him. 

It's a girl... She's crying-please, no, don't-

"What the hell is that?" Sam shifts just a fraction closer. 

Dean looks back at him; "Stay behind me and keep your mouth shut."

Sam swallows audibly and his big feet are suddenly very quiet against the floor. His inspection of the surrounding decay has ceased and he's a very quiet, albeit very large presence at Dean's back. 

They smell it before they even find the first bodies. Dean motions his brother forward but Sam stays back, shakes his head and wrinkles his nose. Dean glares at him, asks if he'd rather wait here alone and Sam shakes his head, tiptoes forward. 

It's a smell you don't easily forget. Putrescence worms its way deep into your sinuses, into your hair and clothes until you're saturated in the stench of it. Like shit and old grapes, the smell of death permeates the spaces around them, the nooks and crannies and hollows of the leaky old building like incense. 

Sam pulls his collar up over his nose, makes a few muffled gagging noises and swallows it down. He's scared, actually really scared and it's written plainly on his face. 

They find the bodies not far away. They're lined up like a buffet, hands tied above their heads, moldering, covered in maggots and flies. Their skin is withered, dried and crackling, like the very life has just been sucked right out of them-

Dean's light lands on the phlebotomy bags and a sharp pain jags through his temples. He's seen this before. He's-

He's standing in front of the closet, Cas is asleep in the bed behind him and that girl is between them. There are bodies hanging there between his shirts and Cas's suits, rotting and dripping onto the hardwood... 

-She's hanging there at the end of the line and while Sam is pinching his nose and staring in horror at what's in front of him Dean's moving toward her. 

No. No, it's not possible. Why is she here!

Sam pushes past him. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. "Dean? What's going on?"

The girl whimpers, judders and her eyes move, meet Dean's and hold. 

Something cold drips onto Dean's cheek from above and he sees the shadow shifting just a few dozen feet away. He grabs his brother and pushes him back with a silent order to be quiet. Urges him behind a wall of equipment and debris, forces him to crouch and bends over him watching in sick fascination at what's happening. 

The djinn moves silently, barely visible between the shadows and filth. Dean can only really see him when he steps in front of the girl. 

It's so calm, so gentle seeming, looks at the girl passively as she whimpers and tries to flee, bloody feet slipping where she's barely touching the ground. 

"Where's my dad? Don't... No-nono... Where's my dad?"

Its voice is low, calm, almost soothing and it brushes fingertips against the girl's cheek, "Sleep... sleep." 

She meets Dean's eyes, unblinking, empty, lifeless, and goes limp against her bonds. 

The djinn hums, rumbles in its throat and sniffs her. Nuzzles into the juncture of her arm and neck, Dean thinks it may lick her and part of him wants to be sick. He wonders what else the djinn does to her.

The djinn pulls at the tubes and wires on the phlebotomy bag, rumbles again and drinks, tips it up to its lips and squeezes like a fucking juice box.

Sam gags into his palm and electric blue eyes burn in the darkness turned right for them. 

Dean claps a hand over his brother's mouth, pulls him back and out of sight as the thing stalks forward. Sam goes willingly, quakes where Dean's still restraining him and the djinn stares at where they'd been just moments ago, tilts its head up and sniffs the air, pulls it over its tongue, cat like, scenting them. After a moment it breathes out a growl and retreats up the stairs they're hiding beneath. 

The seconds are agony. Ticktickticking away. 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A heavy door closes somewhere above them and there is silence but for the echo of it.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Dean breathes out slowly, relaxes, carefully removes his hand from Sam's mouth and shuffles forward so he can see the girl again.

Sam sits there shivering for a moment. "This is real. You're not crazy." 

But Dean didn't hear him... His eyes were locked on the girl. The lifeless length of her hanging there, the soft puff of breath moving her dirty hair. "She didn't know where she was..." 

Sam turns to him, still breathing heavily as the adrenaline pumped; "What?"

"She thought she was with her father." 

Something sick and icy crawls down Dean's spine and he pushes himself to his feet, ignores the twinge of muscles and in that moment his mind is a wreck, flashing images of his mother and Cas and Sam holding Jessica's hand. That girl in her once white dress crying for her father. 

Sam follows him a lot more closely than he had before, rolls his feet so there's not a sound and keeps flicking his eyes back and forth waiting for that thing to come back and discover them. 

Dean stands in front of her, looks into her eyes and sees nothing. 

"What if that's what the djinn does..." He says it mostly to himself, thinking out loud, because he's used to having Sam as a sounding board. "It doesn't grant you a wish, just makes you think it has..."

Sam pulls roughly at his arm, is staring up at the second level where it disappeared and his words come out in a grating whisper; "Man, that thing could come back, alright?"

Dean looks at him, sees the fear in his brother's eyes and a light flickers above him... A naked bulb just dangling there. Water drips on it and steam rises like smoke from the glass, rolls down and drips off to the floor. 

Electricity buzzes in too fragile wires and his hands feel swollen, cold and blood filled.

He can't breathe... is transfixed-hypnotized by the light.

Water hits his forehead, rolls down and drips off his chin. His throat is dry, maybe if he can catch a drop on his tongue he can wash away that TASTE-

Oh, God.

"Dean, please."

"What if I'm like her?" That spike of pain is twisting farther and farther back into his head, he can't look away, can't blink, can't breathe- "What if I'm tied up in here someplace?" His heart is beating too quickly, too hard against his ribs, punches his breaths out before they do any good, "What if all this is in my head?"

Sam is behind him, teeth ground together; "What're you talkin' about? You're not tied up, you're right here, with me and we are getting out of here." 

"It could, yanno... Maybe it gives us some kind of supernatural acid and then just feeds on us slow-"

"No, Dean. That doesn't make sense, OK?" Sam's pulling on his arm now, insistently, almost in panic.

But Dean doesn't hear him. "What if that's why she keeps appearing to me. She's not a spirit, but more and more I'm catchin' flashes of reality! Yanno, like I'm in here somewhere and I'm catatonic and I'm takin' all this stuff in but I can't snap out of it!"

Sam pulls him again; "Okay, yeahyeahyeah, you're right, I was wrong, you're not crazy, but we-we... we need to get out of here fast-" 

Dean hits him. Knocks his arm back and takes a slow shuddering breath.

Sam holds out his arms eyes wide, expression disbelieving.

That taste is back in his throat now and his head hurts so much; "I don't think you're real."

Sam's eyes bug and his teeth clench and he looks like a teapot about to explode, hisses in a breath and growls it out, grabs Dean by his coat and shakes him. "Do you feel that?" He smacks his palms up and down Dean's arms and chest, but Dean's mind is already spinning, he can see it in his eyes. "Feel this? I'm real. This is NOT an acid trip. I'm real and that thing is gonna come right down here and kill us for real. Now, PLEASE!"

"Only one way to be sure," He draws the knife and brandishes it between them.

Sam's eyes widen, the color drains from his face and he takes a step back with his hands up; "Whoa, whoa. W-what are you doing?"

Sam's eyes bore into his own, he looks real. He sounds real, the hands that had shaken him until his teeth rattled felt real... Mom had felt real, so had Jess and... And Cas. 

Dean's eyes are wide and alight with purpose and pain. "Old wives' tale... if you're about to die in a dream you wake up-"

"No-nonononono," There's a vein on Sam's forehead and his hands are shaking, his voice gone high with fright. "That's crazy, alright!"

"Maybe."

"You're gonna kill yourself-"

Dean turns the blade toward him defensively and Sam bounces back with his eyes locked on it and his pulse visibly beating in his neck. He's gray in the face and there's sweat on his forehead. 

"Or I'll wake up!" 

Sam inhales and presses his palms together, "Okay. Look... This isn't a dream, alright? I'm here, with you, now and you are about to kill yourself, Dean." 

Would Dean's imagination be this vivid? Would he conjure up sweat on his imaginary brother's forehead in a moment like this? Would he make there be dirt under Sam's nails and a healing paper cut on his middle finger? Was Dean's imagination sharp enough that Sam would be whimpering on each exhale and his eyes twitching, trying to find an opening where he might be able to snatch the knife away?

"No... I'm pretty sure." 

Sam shivered visibly with each breath, he didn't speak, had run out of words and there was such absolute terror in his eyes.

"Like... ninety percent sure." 

Sam ground his teeth and his feet shifted, ready to spring, watched as the knife turned in his brother's hand and made a low keening noise in his throat.

"But I'm sure enough-"

"WAIT!"

Fluttery and white and the little hairs Dean's arms and the back of his neck stood on end. 

She was smiling at him. 

She looked exactly like the last time he'd seen her all those years ago and something inside him thought maybe it would have been better if he had just stabbed himself and bled out on the floor because then it would have been real... then everything would have been real and he could die knowing he'd at least gotten to say he loved her one last time.

"Why'd you have to keep digging?"

Sam's voice was thin, remorseful and when Dean turned to look at him Cas was standing there beside him with his messy hair and scruffy cheeks and tie on backward. Jess was there too, watching him with those glass colored eyes of hers. 

"Why couldn't you have left well enough alone?"

Something hurts in his chest, right between his lungs and up his throat where that sweatbitterrotten taste lingers. So, this is it...

"You were happy..."

Mom is there, young and soft and smelling like oranges and ginger and vanilla ice cream, she meets his eyes and speaks in a voice he's heard before when he was very young, asking nicely so he's not scared when she's caught him doing something dangerous. 

"Put the knife down, honey." 

"You're not real," He meets Cas's denim blue eyes directly when he speaks and that warmth in his chest shatters; "None of it is," His hands are shaking, fingers numb and he's squeezing the blade so tightly its leaving an indent in his palm. 

"None of it matters, it's still better than anything you had." 

"What?"

"It's everything you want. We're a family again... let's go home."

She says it like it's simple, like it's easy.

He aches in his chest feels like those empty silences between heartbeats will stretch on forever and he'll just cease to be; "I'll die... the djinn'll drain the life outta me in a couple of days-"

"But in here with us it'll feel like years. Like a lifetime," Her fingers are soft and so warm on his cold skin, catch his jaw and draw his attention from Sam back to her. "I promise... no more pain, or fear. Just love and comfort and safety," She smiles tenderly and her voice is like a lullaby, "Dean... Stay with us," She pushes her hand through his hair and she feels so solid, so vital and alive and REAL. He leans into the touch of her palm seeking its warmth. "Get some rest."

He wants to sleep... his limbs feel heavy.

"You don't have to worry about Sam anymore," Jess says it like it's a promise, "You get to watch him have a full life."

Sam with his girl, getting married, having a family, kids of his own, growing older... happy.

Cas is suddenly there, gripping and holding and anchoring him. There are galaxies in his gaze, promises and worlds yet unexplored, open just for them. He tastes like the first wash of rain on parched land. Like an oath of sanctuary in the storm, like the sun and the sea and the moon all rolled up into a threat of teeth and a gift of softness. Dean feels the knife slip in his fingers. 

Cas doesn't say anything aloud. There isn't anything to say that hasn't already been breathed into their skin. He pulls back and looks deep, wraps his strong thin arms around Dean's shoulders and neck and paints the words with the motion of his lips against his ear. Dean feels himself echoing them and they taste like summer and cool breezes through open windows. 

Sam's eyes are bloodshot and there are wet tracks on his cheeks; "Why is it our job to save everyone? Haven't we done enough? I'm begging you," Sam looks down at the knife, swallows and his lower lip trembles; "Give me the knife." 

Cas's fingers are just hooked on his, easy and casual and all he's ever wanted and Dean realizes this is it. This is everything, all of it. He doesn't need anything other than this... 

His hand lifts, handle of the knife pointed outward and meets all their eyes one last time, feels that warmth in his chest when Cas's fingers slip from his and his head tilts just a fraction to the side-

"I'm sorry..." 

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	5. Gimme Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short last chapter, first chapter of the next part is up as well. 
> 
> Please don't hate me! *Hides*

0-0-0

There is blood in his mouth, a great unrelenting pressure in his middle. Cas is crouched over him, holding his head up and someone is pressing down MASHING into his stomach. “Dean?” His lips aren’t moving.

“Dean? Dean—you have to wake up! Wake up!”

He’s cold, curled in on himself in the motel bed one hand tangled in Sam’s shirtfront, the other pinned to the bed. Sam’s eyes are wide, fearful and he has his palm cupped over Dean’s forehead.   
His wrists are bloody, wrapped and swollen from being tied and supporting his weight, his nail beds are bruised and there are redblack starbursts on his fingers and the backs of his hands from capillaries rupturing under such pressure. His hands will be stiff and sore for a while. 

Acid trip, he couldn’t have picked a better comparison because now he’s coming down and he hasn’t felt something this bad since he was much younger and desperate for an escape. Sam’s name comes out in a rasp and Sam shushes him. Tells him he’s dehydrated, that he couldn’t wake him up for a second there.

His limbs shake and his fingers don’t cooperate. He has to hold the cup pinched between his palms and stiff useless fingers to successfully get it to his mouth. 

“The body—What about the body?”

“It’s OK,” Sam says, “It’s gone.” 

He chokes on the water and Sam takes it away. 

“’s it real? Is this real?”

“This is real, Dean… This is real.” 

“Prove it.” 

“You saved me… The djinn had me pinned down, was trying to put me under,” He breathes slowly, makes sure to keep eye contact; “You stabbed it, then you collapsed,” Sam pulls at the bandages around Dean’s wrist until he can see the bruising, until he can pick curiously at the scabs until he bleeds. 

He’ll probably wind up with scars, but it works. Calms him… Isn’t helpful in the slightest but until the aftermath of the djinn fades, or until Dean is satisfied he’s just dreaming, it’ll have to do. 

Sam pulls him in, wraps his arms around him and squeezes until Dean’s breathing becomes labored, then releases him. 

It’s the next afternoon before he’s up and moving. Sam asks him what he wants to eat, he says fried chicken… and bring back some beer. 

He eats, shuffles to his bed and sits hunched, staring into the corner and drinking with a magazine on his knees. 

He’s relieved when Sam tells him the girl has a very good chance of recovering.

“How ‘bout you? You alright?”

Dean coughs, swallows and doesn’t look up; “Yeah, I’m alright…” He turns a page, isn’t really reading more as looking at the pictures, “You should have seen it Sam… Our lives—“ He smiles, “You were such a wussy.” 

Sam snorts and watches as he flips another page over and tilts his beer up again. 

“So, we didn’t get along then, huh?”

“No.”

“Yeah… I thought it was supposed to be this… perfect fantasy—“

“It wasn’t,” He finishes his drink, plops the magazine down where he was sitting, stands and goes for another bottle. “It was just a wish… I wished for Mom to live… Mom never died, we never went hunting and you and me just never—uh— You know.“

Sam looked at his hands, the bruises on his knuckles from struggling with the djinn were already fading. “Well, I’m glad we do… and I’m glad you dug yourself out, Dean. Most people wouldn’t have had the strength they would have just stayed—“

“Yeah, lucky me…” He looked down at his hands, flexed them open and closed. The muscles of his jaw twitched and for a long while he was quiet, gone into his head somewhere. 

Sam watched, couldn’t look away, felt like he was missing something.

The smile was abrupt, didn’t reach his eyes but Sam welcomed it, a fake smile was better than nothing, “I gotta tell you though, man,” Dean put distance between them. “You had Jess, Mom was gonna have grandkids—“ 

“Yeah, but, Dean… It wasn’t real.”

“I know,” He rubs his palms on his thighs and pulls his lower lip between his teeth; “But I wanted to stay…” 

Sam swallows the burn in his throat, knows then that something is missing from this picture, Dean isn’t telling him something. He’s not sure why, but Dean’s eyes… they’re different. Less than four hours under that Djinn’s control and his brother is different. His gaze isn’t even focused anymore, just fixed ahead of himself in the ether; 

“I wanted to stay so bad,” There’s a flash, brief and bright, but it’s gone again in an instant; “I mean ever since Dad— All I can think about is how much this job’s cost us…” He shakes his head but that sense of dis-connectivity about him remains; “We’ve lost so much… We’ve sacrificed so much—“

“People are alive because of you.”

He scoffs, like it’s so hard to believe, like it’s something that doesn’t mean anything and his jaws clenched, eyes squeezing closed. 

“It’s worth it, Dean. It is… No, it’s not fair, yanno and it hurts like hell but it’s worth it.”

Dean looks up at him and Sam wonders what’s going through his head because that look, that look says clearly that it’s not… that maybe he made a mistake.

“Dean—“

He looks down at his hands and nods stands up and swallows quickly, says he’s gonna get some air. 

“Dean…”

He doesn’t answer, just walks out and doesn’t look back.

Sam finds him an hour later hunched down in the front seat of the Impala with his knees drawn to his chest and salt tracks on his cheeks, fast asleep or passed out or whatever you wanna call it. 

They don’t mention it after that. Sam keeps his mouth shut and contents himself with the fact his brother is still alive and kicking and a young woman is with her family. 

There are some nights while Sam is doing research and Dean’s asleep that he hears his brother mumble something. Hushed and pulled thin in his usually gruff voice, Sam isn’t sure what to think of it, tries to ignore it but the sound is haunting and he finds himself afraid of it because he knows what it means, knows how close he came to losing his brother to it.

“Please…” It’s just a breath, so quiet that if Sam moves the sound is gone.

“Please…”

0-0-0

Everything seems normal at first. Omens have died down for a little while and what work they do find it’s the wrong time of the month for. 

Dean gets drunk about two weeks later. 

Sam didn’t think it was exactly possible for Dean to be so drunk he was staggering, but somehow he managed it. Downed a whole fifth and some of that rotgut they keep in plastic bottles in the trunk to disinfect wounds. 

They’re parked out on a lonely dirt road somewhere outside Indianapolis, fresh off helping a pair of young hunters Bobby had said were having trouble tracking down a shape-shifter that had been abducting children from their school by impersonating their parents. 

Edith and Eddy were twenty-two, twins, olive complexion and dark hair. Their specialty was fae creatures; brownies and redcaps and gnomes, not the big game. They’d thought this case was something entirely different and had been baffled by the security camera footage of one girl’s ‘father’ with reflecting eyes picking her up early. 

Sam noticed how his brother watched Eddy after they’d been there only thirty minutes, how he stole haunted looks at him and couldn’t seem to meet his eyes.

Sam liked Edith, but she and her brother were both of smaller than average stature and she literally laughed in his face when, after a few beers, he grinned at her flirtatiously. She called him ‘Godzilla’ then punched him ‘playfully’ in the gut. Her fist went through him like a pike.

Dean didn’t speak much, tracked the shifter through the sewers with Edith while Sam and Eddy questioned the families. 

It was actually Eddy that brought it up, wire-rimmed glasses shoved onto his forehead, “Your brother… He’s gay, huh?”

Sam choked on his coffee. “What?”

Eddy’s mouth quirked to the side; “He’s been kinda sexin’ me with his eyes since you guys got here—“ His hands pop up in an effort to placate what he thinks will be wrath, “Not that I’ve got anything against people like that… I just—It’s a little creepy… He’s like, twice my size and is also kinda scary.”

Sam bursts out laughing, “Don’t take it seriously, flirtation is one of his default settings, right between ‘General Overcompensation’ and ‘Smartass’.” 

It was a lot simpler with the four of them to find the shifter’s den in the basement of the old high school. Children returned to their families, shifter dealt with, Sam and Dean woke to find a note under the wiper of the Impala, Eddy and Edith’s contact information, in thanks. 

There wasn’t a hotel within reasonable distance that didn’t put them in danger of being spotted by cops so Dean had driven out some winding dirt road or another, padlocked a forestry gate behind them, drove for a while longer and parked under the protection of the trees. 

They ate ramen cooked on a one burner butane stove Dean had shoved under his seat. Sam joked cautiously, watched his brother work through a whole bottle of cheap whiskey and half a Gator Aid bottle of that rotgot shit they kept around because it was stronger than peroxide. 

Dean stood up halfway through the whiskey—he had his feet pretty far apart to stay upright and his hips swayed in time with the music on the radio. Sam watched him in the lantern light, the long black shadows he cast against the spindly branches of the trees and bushes around them, how his eyes were burning with a feverish light as he swayed. 

Two or three more songs he shuffled around. Sometimes he’d sing, tilt his chin up and pelt along until he spooked some birds trying to sleep or scared the shit out of a few deer nesting down in the thicket on the opposite side of the road. 

Sam wondered if they could make a weapon out of Dean’s voice, maybe werewolves would start howling in pain of they heard him scratching his way through Garage Inc. or butchering Bon Scott. 

Dean ducked into the car a few times and stabbed a new cassette into the deck, flattened himself over the seat and tapped out the rhythm in midair with dangling feet. 

“Dude, can you turn on the radio at least? I mean, give me some variety if you’re gonna be performing Karaoke all night.”

Dean muttered something, Sam couldn’t quite catch it, didn’t care to anyway and Dean ejected the tape, flipped on the radio and started crooning along slightly off key. Apparently it wasn’t Sam’s day because most of what played on the radio was on some of Dean’s tapes and he considered briefly finding his headphones and just submersing himself in something a little less… THAT. 

The DJ came on, mentioned something about her daughter’s graduation next week and All Request Late Night.

The music played for a little while, maybe three or four bars, then Dean sat up. Sam watched, intrigued and maybe concerned as Dean climbed unsteadily out of the car and staggered off toward the road. He stood there staring up at the sky with his left hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jeans, right moving the bottle to and from his mouth. 

Quiet. Maybe the stir of early insects, the distant rip of an airplane as it made its way across the sky.

Dean chuckled stupidly and turned his head to Sam, motioning upward; “Hey, Sammy… I can see Uranus.” 

He shook his head; “Ha-ha…” A sigh, “You’re drunk, Dean.”

Dean took another slow drink, staring at him, no light in his eyes now, all shining glass and alcohol and barely hidden heartache; “Yeah… I am—That a problem?”

Sam let out a pent up breath. “Are you going to make it one?”

He took another sip, hissed as he swallowed and turned back to the stars, humming near silently along until the song ended. 

“Dean?” Sam called to him a few minutes of silence later. “Dude, switch me bottles, I don’t need you being bitchy with a hangover tomorrow.”

“I do not bitch—“

“Whatever,” He stood and took a bottle of water to his brother, took the rotgut and put the lid back on. “This stuff takes off furniture polish, Dean… How can you stand to drink it?”

“Killin brain cells, that’s all that matters…”

“Killing your liver is more like it.”

Dean scoffed and took a swig of the water like it was a beer. 

“Come on, get back over here where I can keep an eye on you,” He pulled on his jacket sleeve.

“I do not need you to baby sit me, Sam,” He shrugged from under his brother’s hand, pulled his shoulder away in a single quick jerk like Sam’s fingers burned through the leather.

“I’m not babysitting you, I’m making sure you don’t collapse and choke to death on your own vomit.”

Dean grumbled but shuffled back and dropped into the passenger seat, watching Sam clean his knives. 

It’s quiet for a while, then the rotgut really starts to hit Dean’s system and he starts talking. Little of it makes much sense, just babbling because he’s drunk and his tongue’s loose. With Sam just in his peripheral, maybe he feels alone.

“She made us wear sweaters… Ugly sweaters… Yanno those pictures you see in people’s house-es? Where they’re all smilin’ but they’re not really smilin’? ‘sall fake and dead eyed and scary lookin’?” He swallows a mouthful of water. He’s slipped from drunk enough to only remember words without contractions to the slurring, half-lidded eyes, head bobbing around on his neck, kind of drunk. Dean can get violent when he’s like this. Can just stand up for no reason and trash the room he’s in because his inner turmoil, whatever it is at the time, can’t find a lucid outlet. 

He doesn’t break anything this time though, just sits there and mumbles. 

“’had blue eyes, Sammy… didn’ pull ‘s hair either… said ‘e was glad I’d changed. S’good…” He stares into the light of their lantern, the fat moths and mosquitos and little bugs buzzing around the light. “But ‘wasn’t real… none of it—“ He laughs. “How fucked up’s ‘at, Sam?” He takes another sloppy drink, spills most of it because he chokes halfway through, his face twisting into something agonized, stands up and chucks the bottle as hard as he can into a maple growing a few yards away. Water splatters everywhere, silvery diamond drops frozen for an instant in the lantern light, then gone. 

Dean slams the car door and hunches in the front seat. Doesn’t say anything else. 

He has a nasty hangover the next morning, spends thirty minutes on his hands and knees in the ditch puking and lets Sam drive all the way back to the interstate. He drives after that, doesn’t even acknowledge what had happened the night before, Sam decides not to bring it up and tries to get some rest.

They stop again sometime after the sun goes down for food. Sam isn’t exactly sure where they are but he climbs out, stretches a little and Dean calls after him.

“Don’t forget the pie… I love me some pie.”

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


End file.
